


On The Other Hand

by outlawjames13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Make Stuff Up, I haven't seen it yet, I'm ignoring it for now, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, This does NOT follow Civil War, Withdrawal, but I know this won't fit with it, eventual avengers, eventually, non-canon, recovering, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlawjames13/pseuds/outlawjames13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you’re going to steal a horse, you shouldn’t take that one.”<br/>Moving on instinct, he reaches around, pinning the other person to the stall front as he turns, pressing his metal hand to their neck as he draws a knife. A phone falls from their hand, clattering to the floor.<br/>“Why not?” he hisses.<br/>The girl gasps, her eyes wide as her hands grapple at his arm to try and remove it. She looks scared, but not as scared as people usually are at the sight of him. She isn’t screaming, isn’t crying, begging for him to spare her. Though he isn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of that.<br/>Her eyes are different colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so late getting on this train.  
> I've been wondering what Bucky did after he pulled Steve out of the water, and I was tired of waiting for Cap 3. So I wrote my own version. And then I had to make it perfect, so that's what took so long.  
> It has not been proofread by anyone (Except me), so if you find errors, I'm sorry. (Please tell me though. I'd like to fix them)  
> I make things up, I do not claim that any of it is true. Any relation to real person, living or dead (Or fictionally living or dead) is purely coincidental.  
> Title from 'On The Other Hand,' by Randy Travis.  
> I'd like to thank my laptop, Jethro, for allowing me to type this interesting mess of thoughts, and my eyes, for staying operational through the entire process.  
> I'd like to thank Chris Evans for being a Dorito, because he's adorable, and I'd also like to thank Sebastian Stan for ruining my chances of falling for anyone else. You cute jerk. You guys are the best meatballs ever.  
> That is all.

He doesn’t know where he is, or what direction he’s running in.

Well, scratch that. West. He’s running west. He knows that much.

How long has he been running? The sun was up when he started, and it’s almost set now. He estimates about six hours, but he can’t be sure, because it’s getting farther into fall, and the amount of daylight in the day is shortened.

He also knows that he can’t stop, not yet. He isn’t far enough away from where he left Captain America - _Steve_ \-  on the riverbank. He must be at least ten or so miles away from there now, but he’s on foot and if someone is following him, they’re likely in a car.

He’s far enough off the road, he thinks. He can still hear the cars, but he can’t see any of them. Which most likely means that they can’t see him.

He runs for most of the night, stopping a few times to catch his breath and get his bearings. Nothing looks even vaguely familiar, which doesn’t help. He’s too far away from the road to see the signs that would tell him what town is nearby, but he can see the lights of several houses and buildings as he runs past them.

As the sun starts to come up, he moves even farther away from the road, to where he can barely hear the cars and trucks as they speed past.

Throughout the day, he tries to stay under the cover of trees, both to avoid being seen and to keep himself from getting overheated. There are a few rivers that he deems safe to drink from, but they are few and far between. He doesn’t see any animals, so that rules out hunting for something to eat.

He finds a few plants and berries that aren’t poisonous, but he can’t stop to eat very many at once, he has to keep moving.

This goes on for a few days - maybe a week or so, he's not completely sure - until he shoves through the treeline, snapping branches as he lifts his head to see where he is.

A field. That’s where he is. A very big, very empty field lined with fence.

Perfect.

He looks back into the woods, but can’t tell where that will take him if he turns to follow the trees.

He can see what looks like a barn across the field. That would be a good place to rest. Maybe sleep for a little while.

He looks around the field, and sees nothing that looks suspicious, no sign of life at all in fact, besides the tall grass. That could provide some cover if he happens to run into anyone.

With that reassurance, he ducks through the fence and steps out into the field, making his way toward the barn.

It’s not easy to run with less than three hours of sleep and very little food in his system, so he slows to a brisk walk, his head constantly turning to make sure nothing is coming near him.

After about five minutes, he reaches the barn, and can hear the sounds of animals moving around inside. There are lights on, however, so he doesn’t go inside right away. He presses himself to the wall of the stable, just beside the door, and waits.

When he hears footsteps, accompanied by the sound of horseshoes on concrete, walk past the door and fade away, he makes his move, swinging around the door and looking inside.

There are what looks like about twenty stalls, each of them with a horse inside, to his left, and a large open arena to his right. Straight across the large area, he can see a ladder that leads to a loft, which is filled with hay bales.

That’s his goal. He’ll be hidden from sight, and it should be more comfortable than the ground.

He darts across the aisle between the stalls, and puts his back against the wall of a stall as he pauses, listening for where the other person is.

A stall door scrapes across the floor as it is closed, on the other side of the barn from where he is.

He silently moves across to the other side of the barn, and reaches for the ladder, preparing to climb it.

And then a horse neighs, which startles him, and he presses back against the wall.

“And what do you want, Jolene?” a voice asks as the footsteps get closer, nearing his position.

Another stall door opens, and the horse makes a noise of greeting.

They’re distracted, he can get up the ladder.

Just as he starts to move, the stall door opens again, and he darts inside of an open stall.

Footsteps walk past him, but he can’t see a face from where he’s pressed against the wall.

The rustling of hay catches his attention, and he turns to see a large tan horse looking at him.

He doesn’t move when the horse curiously moves closer, not wanting to give away his hiding place.

Even as the horse sniffs his hair and nuzzles against his shoulder, he doesn’t react. But he does want the horse to leave him alone. With the large animal so close, he can’t hear where the other person is.

The horse neighs and lifts its head, and that’s the only warning he’s given before-

“If you’re going to steal a horse, you shouldn’t take that one.”

Moving on instinct, he reaches around, pinning the other person to the stall front as he turns, pressing his metal hand to their neck as he draws a knife. A phone falls from their hand, clattering to the floor.

“Why not?” he hisses.

The girl gasps, her eyes wide as her hands grapple at his arm to try and remove it. She looks scared, but not as scared as people usually are at the sight of him. She isn’t screaming, isn’t crying, begging for him to spare her. Though he isn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of that.

Her eyes are different colors. One blue, one green.

She coughs, struggling to breathe, and something in the back of his head snaps. He shouldn’t hurt a woman.

Where did _that_ come from?

He frowns, looking away from her face, trying to understand his own mind. He doesn’t look back until he hears a wheezing sound, and feels her hands slapping at his shoulder.

He quickly lets go, and she leans on the stall as she gasps for breath.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathes, leaning forward to put her hands on her knees. Her hair falls around her face, hiding it from his view.

She looks like she could put up a fight if she wasn’t so out of breath, and that makes him take a step back.

“Hang on,” she says, holding out a hand. “Wait.”

She reaches for her phone, and he moves quickly, grabbing the device before she can reach it.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He scowls at her, not answering. She’s going to call someone, and then Hydra or Shield will come get him, and they’ll go back inside his head again. No way is he voluntarily going through that.

“I was gonna order a pizza, give it back,” she says stubbornly. “I’m hungry.”

As soon as he hears her say it, his stomach growls loudly. Curse his body for not being able to control itself.

“I’ll um… I’ll share if you give me my phone,” she says, holding her hand out for it.

Slowly, reluctantly, he hands the phone back to her, watching as she dials a number that is most likely not the police, and moves the phone to her ear.

“Do you like pepperoni?” she asks. He doesn’t answer, and she shrugs, turning away from him. “I’d like to order two -” she stops, turning around to look at him. “ _Three_ large pepperoni and mushroom please.”

There’s a pause as the other person answers, and it doesn’t sound like a government official, but he doesn’t relax his stance. It could be a ruse.

“Eighteen thirty six Mountain Shade Drive,” she says. “Thank you.”

She pulls the phone away from her face, pressing her thumb to the screen before sliding it into her pocket.

“About ten minutes for the delivery to get here,” she says as she turns back to him. “Do you um… do you wanna come inside?”

He thinks about it. He can keep an eye on her if he’s inside with her. That will keep her from being able to grab some sort of weapon or call someone else.

He nods, and she almost smiles.

“Okay. I just have to shut the lights off.”

She turns, walking toward the large door, and he follows, staying within arm’s reach just in case.

True to her word, she shuts the light off, and then starts toward a small house, looking back periodically to see if he’s still behind her.

She opens the door and walks inside, hanging her jacket on a hook next to the door.

After looking around outside for any cameras, he follows, shutting the door. He leaves his stolen jacket on as he walks through the house behind her. The arm will give him away if she sees it. The longer he can keep it hidden, the better.

“There aren’t a whole lot of options, but do you want something to drink?” she asks. “I’ve got milk, Mountain Dew and water.”

“Water,” he says solemnly. “Please,” he adds quickly after too long of a pause.

He follows her as she walks to the kitchen, slightly limping as she goes. Her right leg seems to have something wrong with it. There’s a small creak and a click every time she takes a step.

“Do you want ice?” she asks as she stands on her tiptoes to get two glasses out of the cupboard above the sink.

“No,” he answers. She nods, and turns to fill the glasses with water from the tap.

“You can sit down if you want,” she says, nodding toward the table.

He takes a seat in the chair that provides the best vantage point to see what’s going on, and leans back in the chair.

She walks over a moment later, setting a glass of water down in front of him before pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. She winces as she stretches out her right leg, as if it hurts.

He downs the water, then sets the empty glass back on the table.

“So.”

He looks up at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

“Are you some kind of… gangster… mob… guy?” she asks, moving her hands around as she tries to word the question.

He sits quietly, thinking. Hydra isn’t a mob. Or a gang. He isn't a part of that anymore anyway.

He shakes his head.

“Okay. Not a mobster. Um… are you running from something?”

He looks at her, contemplating what to tell her. She looks genuinely curious, like she means no harm. He hasn’t spotted any bugs in the house. If he tells her and she turns on him, he can take care of her without a problem.

He nods.

“Oh. Okay.” She sits back, tucking her hands under her legs. “Can I ask what you’re running from?”

He shakes his head.

“Alright. Not that.”

There’s a pause as she thinks of something else to ask.

“Where am I?” he asks suddenly.

She looks up at him, like she’s surprised that he is talking.

“Marshall. Virginia,” she replies.

He nods, looking down at the table.

Virginia isn’t far enough from D.C. He needs to go further. He estimates that he’s gone about fifty or so miles from where he started, but that seems like a few feet compared to what a car could have gotten him.

“Well, not exactly Marshall, I guess,” she amends. “This place is sort of out in the middle of nowhere. But the address is Marshall.”

“How far from Marshall?” he asks.

“Um… eight miles?” she says, sounding more like she’s asking. “I can GPS it if you want, but I think it’s around eight. Why?”

He shakes his head, looking at the empty glass on the table in front of him.

“Do you want more water?” she asks, sensing the need for a change of subject. He nods, and she gets up, taking his glass and hers to the sink to refill them.

The doorbell rings, and his head snaps toward it, his hand automatically reaching for the gun strapped to his back.

“Pizza’s here!” she says happily. She walks over to the table, looking at her phone.

“Twenty minutes,” she grumbles as she sets two glasses of water in front of him.

She walks over to the door, opening it.

“Sorry I’m late, ma’am,” the delivery boy says.

“That’s alright,” she replies. “It is sort of hard to find this place.”

“I’ll say. You’ve got your own little hideaway,” the boy answers. “I almost missed the driveway.”

She takes the pizza, handing over a few crumpled bills.

“Thank you,” she says as the boy walks away. She turns, shutting the door before walking over to the table. “Dinner is served.”

She sets the cardboard boxes down on the table, and opens one, pulling out a piece of pizza for herself.

He looks at her as she takes a huge bite, some of the sauce getting on her cheek.

“You can eat,” she tells him, her mouth full. “Go ahead.”

About ten minutes later, the sun has fully set, and all three pizzas are gone.

“There’s a guest room at the end of the hall, if you want to stay the night,” she offers after she’s finished the dishes. She dries her hands with a towel, walking over to where he’s still sitting.

He nods. One night. That should be enough for him to get some rest, and then he’ll be gone in the morning.

She nods, then sets the towel on the counter before walking down the hallway.

He stands, following her.

“The bathroom is across the hall, you can stay in here,” she tells him, motioning with her hand to an open door. He walks over, looking inside as she turns the light on.

It looks secure enough.

“If you get hungry, there’s food in the fridge. Help yourself.”

He nods, then walks in.

“Okay…” she says. “Goodnight then.”

He turns to say something, he doesn’t know what for sure, but she’s gone into the bathroom, closing the door.

Alright.

He shuts the light off, closing the door before walking over to the bed. He pulls his boots off, thinking that mud on the sheets isn’t a very nice thing to leave behind.

He pulls back the blankets, then lays down on the mattress.

Much better than the ground.

When he wakes up the next day, he feels much better. More rested, ready to keep going. He swings his legs over, setting his feet on the floor and sitting up. He pulls his boots on, then checks his pockets, making sure he has all of his weapons.

After he pulls the sheets back into place, he walk over and opens the door, stepping out into the hallway, and sees no one. He walks down the hallway, looking for any sign of an ambush, but sees none. He can’t hear anything out of place either.

He reaches the kitchen, and looks over at the fridge, his stomach rumbling again.

She did say he was welcome to help himself.

It hits him then that he doesn’t know her name, and he’s almost disappointed.

He opens the fridge, looking for something to eat. In the end, he settles for a bowl of spaghetti, and pulls it out along with the jug of milk, taking it over to the table.

It’s still dark outside, he thinks as he eats. It must be early in the morning yet.

As he takes a drink of milk straight from the jug, he hears footsteps on the hardwood floor.

“You know, most people would get a glass for that milk,” he hears her say.

He sets the jug back down on the table, nearly empty now, and looks at her with a level stare.

She’s standing with her hands on her hips, but she doesn’t look angry. She looks amused.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks.

He nods, then looks her over.

She’s already dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, her honey colored hair in a braid that falls over her shoulder. He glances at her neck, and he sees no visible bruising. He furrows his eyebrows.

She was blue in the face when he let go, there should be some sort of bruise left behind. Not that he necessarily wants to see it, it’s just confusing him. Like everything else that he sees.

“Did you want more to eat?” she asks, moving over to take the empty bowl from in front of him.

“No,” he says. He has to get going, before it gets too late in the day.

He stands from his seat, and she looks at him curiously.

“Are you leaving?”

He nods.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

He nods again, starting toward the door.

“It’s six in the evening,” she says.

What? This makes him stop. Is it really? He slept for that long?

“If I didn’t see you breathing when I came to see if you wanted breakfast this morning, I’d have thought you were dead,” she says.

He whips around, glaring at her, and she calmly puts her hands up.

“I just peeked in the door, I wasn’t gonna try anything, I swear,” she says. “I’d like to think I don’t come off that way.”

Why isn’t she afraid of him? There has to be someone else here with her. A dame with a shape like hers has to have a fella that’s coming around every so often. Or she’s got weapons hidden somewhere that he doesn’t know about. The thought makes him uneasy.

“Are you still gonna leave?” she asks.

He nods determinedly before turning back toward the door. He has to put more distance between himself and D.C.

“You know, you could stay a little bit longer,” she says quietly, looking down at the ground. “I mean, you could get a job or something, earn some money before you go off to… wherever it is that you’re going.”

The prospect of money makes him pause with his hand in the air, still reaching for the doorknob. He can’t just go around stealing everything he needs to survive, that will land him in more trouble than he’s already in.

“What kind of job?” he asks. His voice sounds gravelly.

“Oh. Um, I don’t know what sort of thing you’re used to, but I could use someone to muck out the stalls for me,” she says. “Maybe help fix some fences. And you could stay here, so you don’t have to go find somewhere else to live.”

He thinks about it for a minute. It would give him money to use to get farther away. Maybe he could buy a car and drive. And he saw last night, this place is hard to find. It’s surrounded by woods and apparently many miles of open ground.

An assassin on a horse farm. No one would think to look for him here.

He nods, then turns back around, facing her again.

“Is there a catch?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Well, sort of.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“How about this. You don’t try and kill me, and I won’t tell anyone where you are.” She holds out her hand. “Deal?”

He puts his flesh hand in hers, shaking it firmly with a nod.

“Welcome aboard then…” she trails off, and he knows that she’s looking for him to tell her his name. He thinks it over, deciding to tell her the only name that he’s been given.

“Bucky.”

She nods.

“Bucky,” she says. “Interesting. I’m Felicity.”

“Felicity,” he repeats with a nod.

“You’ll probably need some different clothes,” she muses, looking over his broad shoulders. He still hasn’t taken the jacket off. “We can do that tomorrow though.”

He nods again.

“Are you still hungry?” she asks. He hesitates, then nods another time. That spaghetti didn’t hit the spot quite right. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

Felicity walks away, back into the kitchen, and starts looking through the cupboards. He follows, still not quite trusting her, and sits down at the table to watch her. It isn’t like she seems to mind.

Before too long, she’s placing a platter of mashed potatoes in front of him, along with a plate of ham. She pours two glasses of milk from a new jug before she sits down as well, tucking into her own plate of food.

It amazes him that she isn’t scared of him. Does he look that much like a lost puppy? He’d like to think that he at least looks vaguely threatening at the very least, if not terrifying.

So why isn’t she scared?

By the time that they finish eating, it’s around seven, and after Felicity washes the dishes and puts them away, she walks over to the couch, sitting down and picking up her phone.

He follows, not quite sure what to do with himself. She glances over at him as he sits down on the couch, on the opposite end, but other than that, she pays no attention to him.

Which is different. Usually everyone that sees him won’t look away out of either fear or curiosity.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he blurts out, catching her attention.

“I’ve handled stallions bigger than you, stud, you’re not that scary,” she replies, turning to look at him. “Am I supposed to be afraid of you?”

He looks over at her to see her strange eyes looking at him. She doesn’t seem angry, or scared, or confused. She looks like she’s trying to figure him out.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “Probably.”

“Why?” she asks, setting her phone on the coffee table, giving him her full attention. She swings her legs onto the couch, turning her entire body to face him. “I mean, no offense, but you do look sort of threatening. I get that. But why should I be afraid? You haven’t really done anything to make me afraid of you.”

He looks over at her, holding his metal hand up to her neck.

“Besides that,” she amends. “Technically I startled you, so I was kinda asking for it.”

He’s taken aback at that. She was asking for it? She didn’t ask for anything.

“However, you didn’t have to go quite as far as you did,” she says. Then she shrugs. “We were both at fault.”

He nods, mulling it over. He was provoked, he attacked. It seems logical.

“Where’s the bruise?” he asks. She frowns.

“Do you wanna see it?” she questions. “I mean, I put foundation over it, so… it’ll come off easy? If you want to see it?”

He shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to see what he’s done. He’s seen it enough times. Too many to count.

“If it makes you feel scarier, it did look pretty bad when I woke up this morning,” she adds.

He stays silent.

“Alright.” She turns, reaching for her phone again, but she stops. “Do you _want_ me to be afraid of you? Or do you _think_ I should be afraid of you?”

He takes a moment to think. She should be afraid of him, after all that he’s done. And he knows that he’s done a lot. But does he want her to be afraid of him?

No. He doesn’t, he decides. He doesn’t want this girl to be afraid of him. He doesn't want to go around scaring people. He isn't that person anymore.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he says.

She nods. “Okay.”

And it’s as if everything is settled. Felicity picks up her phone, and it lights up, illuminating her face.

“Oh,” she says, standing up abruptly. “It’s almost ten. I should get to bed.”

He stands too. Sleep is sounding good.

They walk down the hall, and she stops at the door to her room.

“Well, goodnight Bucky,” she says with a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nods. “Goodnight,” he says awkwardly. He’s not sure what else to say.

She smiles at that, and goes into her room, closing the door.

He walks down the hall, going into the other bedroom. Much the same as last night, he kicks his boots off before climbing into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

The next morning, he’s woken up by loud music.

Or what he assumes is music, anyway.

The volume is quickly lowered, with a mumbled, _ow_ following.

Felicity must be awake.

He lays there with his eyes open for a moment, not wanting to get out of bed. He turns his head to one side and sees a clock that he didn’t notice before on the nightstand.

8:32 am. Helpful.

He hears pots and pans clatter, and figures that Felicity must be in the kitchen. Food sounds good.

He vaguely wonders what day it is today, until the clattering stops and he hears footsteps in the hallway.

There’s a knock on the door, then a quiet call of his name.

“Bucky? There’s pancakes if you want some,” Felicity’s voice says. “I’m gonna make eggs too,” she continues.

He doesn’t answer.

“Okay. Come eat when you’re hungry then,” she says. Then he hears her footsteps walking away.

He waits for about five more minutes before he gets out of bed, putting his boots on before walking out the door.

“Good morning,” Felicity says as he walks over to the table and sits down. She’s at the stove, cracking eggs into a skillet.

“Morning,” he replies as he piles his plate full of pancakes.

“I was thinking, since it’s Sunday and I don’t have any lessons today, we could go get you some stuff after breakfast,” she says.

He nods.

After breakfast is finished, he’s eaten twenty three and a half pancakes and four eggs - Felicity counted, not him - Felicity goes to her room to grab her purse before they leave.

“Um, are you going like that?” she asks when she comes back out.

“Like what?”

“All… assassin-y?” she elaborates. “With all the knives and guns and stuff?”

He looks down at himself. He does look conspicuous with all the weapons.

“I suppose it’s a bit much,” he admits.

“A little bit, yeah,” Felicity says. “You can leave them here if you want. It’s pretty safe around here. I’m gonna lock the door and everything, so no one’s gonna steal them.”

He’s reluctant to disarm himself, but he walks back to the guest room and pulls off most of the weapons. He leaves a couple knives in places where they won’t be visible but will still be easy to pull out if he needs them. He pulls the jacket back on, then back out to where Felicity is waiting for him.

“You ready?” she asks. “You look less assassin-y now.”

He nods, and she turns to walk out the door.

“I mean, it’s not like anyone’s going to attack you, cause you’re all big and grumpy looking, so they’ll probably leave you alone,” Felicity tells him as they walk over to her car. She climbs into the driver’s seat, leaving him to stare confusedly at the door. There’s a number pad on it, along with a handle looking thing. Which one opens the door?

Felicity leans over the console, and opens the door from the inside.

“Eunice can be a bit picky when it comes to passengers. That door doesn’t always open,” she says as he sits down, pulling the door closed. “And the seatbelt doesn’t usually work too well either,” she adds as she buckles herself in.

He pays attention, and reaches for the belt on his seat, only to find it stuck in place.

“You gotta let it go all the way back, then pull it out,” she says as she turns the key, trying to start the car. When it doesn’t start on the first turn, she sighs. “Come on, Eunice. You can do it.”

“Eunice?” he asks as he pulls on the seatbelt again. It’s still stuck.

“I named my car Eunice. I thought it fit,” Felicity says, looking a bit sheepish as she turns the key again. This time the engine catches, and the car starts.

“There we go,” Felicity says with a smile. She looks over at him, and sees him still pulling on the seatbelt. “Do you want help?”

He pulls on it one more time, more of a yank, and then sighs when it doesn’t budge.

“Hang on,” Felicity says. She unbuckles her seatbelt, then leans over, reaching across him to let the belt go back all the way, and then she pulls it back out. “Ta da!” she says when it works. She sets her hand on his shoulder as she pulls back, startling him, and he jerks away, which makes her fall forward, her face landing in his lap.

This startles him more, because she’s trying to push herself up, and her hands are on his leg, and what does he do in this sort of situation?

“You know, if you want some head, you’ll have to at least take me to dinner first,” she says once she’s sitting back in her seat. He’s stiff where he sits in the passenger seat, still not sure what to do.

“Sorry,” he says as she buckles her seatbelt again after a moment. “You just...” he gestures with his flesh hand toward his shoulder, and Felicity nods.

“Oh, ok. No touchy. Got it. My bad.”

“Sorry, I just -” he doesn’t know why he keeps apologizing, but it feels like the right thing to do.

“No, you’re cool. I get it,” Felicity says, and it sound like she really does understand, she doesn’t sound angry or anything like that. “Personal space is more important to some people than others. It’s cool.”

She shifts the car, and then they’re driving down the road. Dust billows out behind the vehicle - Eunice - as they speed down the gravel, and he wonders when it last rained here.

After a few minutes of silence, Felicity turns the radio on.

“And in other news, the large aircraft that crashed down near Washington D.C. is beginning to be cleared out, thanks to the help of many local volunteers -”

He stiffens. People are talking about what happened.

“And Captain America was found on a riverbank near the site of the wreckage. It’s suspected that he was involved in the crash, along with another unnamed person. If anyone has any leads, they are advised to call the local - ”

Felicity changes the station, stopping on some sort of guitar music.

“Darn news things. I want music, not talking, lady!” she says, and he’s grateful for the switch.

They sit in silence for a bit, and he looks out the window. It’s nice out here, he thinks. Tall grass on either side of the road. Fields everywhere with large expanses of trees between them.

It’s a good place to hide.

“Was that you?” she asks after a few minutes. “The other guy on the plane thing?”

He looks over at her. She’s looking straight ahead out the windshield, her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth as she concentrates on avoiding the potholes in the road.

She asks as if she’s genuinely curious, something she seems to be most of the time. She doesn’t sound accusing, like it was his fault, she just wants to know.

Maybe it’s the gut feeling that he gets from how she asks that moves him to answer.

“Yes.”

It’s a mumbled answer, nearly inaudible. But he can tell that Felicity hears him, by the way her eyebrows raise, and she nods.

“Okay,” she says. And that seems to be it. Until she adds, “I’m not gonna tell anyone, in case you were wondering. I’m just curious.” She looks over at him with a small smile, then turns back to watch the road. “Am I not supposed to ask about that either?”

“Don’t,” he says, adding a “please,” after a few seconds.

The rest of the drive on dirt roads is spent in silence, until -

“Oooh! I love this song!” Felicity squeals. She reaches over to make it louder, and starts singing along. “Oh Mickey, you’re so fine! You’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!”

“What is that?” he asks.

“Hey Mickey,” she answers, moving side to side in her seat. “It’s from, like the 80’s, so not a lot of people know it, but I like it.” She shrugs, then goes back to singing.

“Do you… usually listen to… this?” he asks, not sure how to word the question.

She turns the music down a little as they drive into what must be Marshall.

“Sometimes,” she says. “I listen to pretty much anything. Except rap. That stuff is really nasty. Sketchy stuff right there.”

He understood about half of that, but he nods along anyway.

Felicity turns into a small parking lot, and parks a few yards away from a small store.

“It’s pretty small, but it’s the only store in town that sells clothes,” she says as she shuts the engine off and unbuckles her seatbelt. She grabs her purse and opens the door, and he follows as she walks through the glass door.

A bell dings as the door swings open, and again when it closes.

It smells like shoe polish.

“So, do you want to split up and meet back here, or-”

“I’ll go with you,” he says. If he lets her out of his sight, she might tell someone who he is, and he doesn’t quite trust her not to yet.

“Okay,” she says. She grabs a basket and walks down toward the back of the store. Along the way, she grabs a few brightly colored boxes off some shelves, but she doesn’t really stop walking until they reach the back corner of the store.

“Um, do you care what color?” she asks as she pulls a couple thermal shirts off of a rack.

He shakes his head, and she holds two black shirts out for him.

“Try these on then. If they fit, cool, if they don’t we can keep looking.”

He frowns at her. Try them on?

“There’s a fitting room over there,” she says patiently, pointing to a small room in the very corner. “I’ll stay right here. Go try them on to see if they fit.”

He looks at her skeptically. If he can’t see her, she might run.

“I’ll stay right here,” she repeats, pointing to the exact spot that she’s standing on. “Promise.”

He nods, feeling oddly comforted by her words. Then he turns to walk into the small room, closing the door before he unzips the jacket, pulling it off. The metal arm shines in the artificial lighting of the store, and he quickly pulls the tactical vest off, careful not to drop the knives that are tucked inside.

He pulls one of the shirts off of it’s hanger, and tries to pull it over his head.

“Felicity,” he calls. They’re the only two in the store from what he saw earlier.

“Still here,” she calls back.

“It’s too small.”

“Okay. Try the other one,” she says.

He yanks the shirt off, tossing it to the side, and pulls the other one off of the hanger.

“This one fits,” he tells her.

“Cool. Which one is it?”

“What?” he asks.

“There’s a tag on the inside of the collar. What size does it say?”

He tugs the shirt off, then looks at the collar.

“Large,” he says.

“Okay. I’ll grab a couple more then.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him, and turns to look at himself in the mirror.

He does look a little grumpy, he supposes. But he doesn’t expect anything different from himself. He looks dirty more than anything. His face looks scratchy, most likely because he knows he hasn’t shaved in over a week. He should wash his hair soon.

He pulls his own clothes on again, and after he zips the jacket, he grabs the two shirts and their hangers and walks back out.

Felicity is exactly where he left her, holding two more shirts, one blue and one red.

“You’re supposed to put them back on the hangers,” she says when he reaches her. Confused, he holds the items out in front of himself, looking at them. “I got it,” she says as she reaches for them. “Hold this please,” she adds as she hands him the shopping basket.

He looks down at the things she’s grabbed, and can’t make sense of what the boxes say. What in God’s name are tampons?

“I’ll take that back,” she says, tossing the shirts into the basket and pulling it back from him. “Pants might be tougher to find,” she tells him with a determined look.

After what feels like hours, she’s shoved him back into the fitting room at least three times - each time saying that she’ll stay right where she is, and keeping her promise - and tossed a package of socks and boxer briefs at him, they head over to the cashier.

“Felicity, how are you?” the older woman behind the counter asks.

“I’m doing well Mrs. Jones, how are you?” Felicity asks, a polite smile on her face.

“Quite well, my grandson Joe is going to college this month. I can’t believe how much he’s grown up!” the old woman answers. “You know, he’s old enough now, you two could -”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Felicity says with a laugh. “I know what you’re doing, and no, I don’t think that would work out. We don’t get along like we used to.”

It’s then that the old woman looks up and sees him standing there behind Felicity.

“Oh. Who’s this?” she asks.

Felicity looks back at him. “This is Bucky. He’s new at the stables.”

He feels a bit relieved that she doesn’t tell the other woman anything else.

She did say that she wouldn’t.

Mrs. Jones seems to think that’s enough, and starts to prattle on about another one of her grandchildren as she bags the items Felicity’s just paid for.

When she’s finished, Felicity says a goodbye, and then they walk back out to her car.

“Sorry about her, she’s a gossipy old thing,” Felicity says once they’re inside the car.

This time he buckles his seatbelt on his own.

He shrugs, and Felicity takes that as an answer. She starts the car, and pulls out of the parking lot, going back the way they came.

“She’s been trying to set me up with her grandson since we were little, but I can’t stand him. For Pete’s sake, the kid’s eight years younger than me!” Felicity continues. “He’s too full of himself.” She glances over at him. “Sorry, it bugs me, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“I can tell,” he says. “How old is he?”

“ _Just_ turned eighteen,” she replies with a roll of her eyes.

That is pretty young to be interested in a dame like her. Especially when she’s that much older.

“And of course he was the star quarterback on the football team, and he’s gotten every girl in the school to date him, because he’s just _so amazing_ , and his grandma just keeps saying that ‘ _you should just give him a chance, Miss Jacobs_ ’,” she says, changing her voice to sound like Mrs. Jones’, “ _if you just talk to him, you’ll see that he’s really such a nice boy, and he’ll take good care of you_.” She laughs. “If I wanted someone to take care of me, I would have done that online crap that mom’s been shoving in my face.”

Is that how people meet these days? Online?

“You probably don’t want to hear all this, do you?” she asks, glancing over at him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright,” he says. If she’s talking about herself, she won’t ask about him.

“Okay…” she says, glancing over at him again. “I mean, it’s not like she’s trying to just shove me at a guy, but she’s said multiple times that she wants grandkids, and she’s not getting any younger, and the first time it was funny, but now it’s just irritating.”

He nods along, listening.

“It’s not like I can get any decent guys to look at me anyway,” she says. “Most just turn out to be fuckboys and that’s-”

“What?” he asks suddenly. “What did you just say?”

“They turn out to be fuckboys?” she asks. He nods. “They just want sex, pay attention.”

He blinks a few times, not used to hearing women say words like that. So bluntly. Are all women like this now?

“And I don’t want something like that, so I just kind of keep to myself, because pretty much every guy I talk to ends up like that, and it’s just easier to be alone. At least I have the horses to keep me company.”

She keeps talking the entire way back, though she switches to a lighter subject after a bit, deciding to talk about the horses instead.

When she turns back into the driveway, the clock in the car says that it’s 3:31.

She stops at the mailbox, opening her window before pulling the door down and reaching in. She pulls her hand back, with at least six envelopes in it. She flips through them as she rolls her window up.

She lets out a small gasp as she sees a blue envelope, then tosses the stack onto the dashboard, then driving up to the house.

“I didn’t think that would take so long, sorry,” Felicity says as they walk inside. “I’ll make some lunch if you want to.. um.. go take a shower or something.”

He nods, then takes the two bags of things she bought for him back to the guest room. He grabs a shirt and jeans, then makes his way over to the bathroom.

Now to figure out how all the knobs work...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that The Winter Soldier came out in April, but did they say at any point in the movie what time of year it was? Because now that I've written it as fall, I'm second guessing myself and thinking that it's late spring/early summer in the film.


	2. Chapter 2

When he walks back out into the kitchen, showered and shaved, it looks like Felicity is almost done with the food.

He sits down at the table, feeling a little strange in clothes that aren’t made of leather. The jeans are tighter than he's used to.

He’s still managed to tuck a few knives and one of his smaller guns under his clothes, so he doesn’t feel completely unprepared in case of an attack.

As he waits, he looks over the pile of papers on the table. There’s a few that look like bank statements, and then he sees the blue envelope Felicity was so excited about.

It’s been opened, and he can read the first line of the letter that’s in it.

_Dear Tater Tot,_

_I miss you. I don’t think I’ll be able to come home for Thanksgiving. I’m sorry._

He wonders what that means, and who wrote it.

“Oh,” Felicity says, catching his attention as she turns around with a bowl of pasta, “I didn’t… didn’t hear you come in.” Her eyes flit over his shoulders, then back up to his face as her cheeks turn a shade pinker.

She blinks, shaking her head, and walks over to the table to set the bowl down. Then she turns quickly, walking back to the stove to grab a pan with sauce in it.

“There’s a pie in the oven, it should be done soon,” she says as she sits down across from him. She fills her plate, so he assumes that it’s alright for him to do the same.

A few minutes after they’ve started eating, there’s a ding from above the stove.

“That’s the pie,” Felicity says, standing and walking over to the oven. She opens the door and pulls on her oven mitts before she reaches in and brings the pie out.

“What kind?” he asks as she sets it on the table. He’s faintly aware of the sauce that spills out of his mouth as he talks, but he doesn’t really care.

“Apple,” she replies as she sits down, nearly missing her chair as she looks at him. “Ow,” she says with a wince as her hip bumps against the arm of the chair.

They return to eating in silence, the house quiet except for the scraping of their forks on the plates.

“You um... you look nice,” she blurts out suddenly. “All cleaned up like that.”

He looks over at her, and she blinks quickly, looking down.

“I mean, you looked nice before, I didn’t mean that you were -”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

He’s not sure what else to say. He’s been told that his marksmanship was good, or that he’d done well on a mission, but no one has told him anything about the way that he looks since he can remember. Maybe a long, long time ago, before all this. It sounds strange to hear it. He feels strange as he lets it sink in.

Felicity gives him a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly. Then she returns to her food, poking the pasta with her fork.

It’s quiet again, until the food is gone and they’re finished eating. Felicity takes his plate to the sink, and after she’s finished with the dishes, she puts them away.

“I’m gonna play some Mario Kart,” she says, “do you wanna … join me?”

He thinks for a moment. Does he _want_ to? That’s not a choice he’s been given for… that’s not a choice he’s been given. He wasn’t given any choices while he was with Hydra. What does it mean to want? Can he want after everything he’s been put through?

And what's Mario Kart?

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she says when he doesn’t answer. “I’ll um.. I’ll just be in there.”

He appreciates that she tells him where she should be. It makes him feel more prepared, in case he has to do something.

He hopes he doesn’t have to do something.

Felicity walks over and plops down on the couch, pressing a button on some sort of controller. On the wall, a large blue screen lights up, with a blinking white dot at the bottom.

Then the screen changes multiple times, very quickly, and then there’s a screen with what looks like a small car at the bottom in the center.

And then Felicity is pressing buttons on whatever’s in her hands, and the car is moving, going over what looks like a road at a fast pace.

Felicity gasps several times as the car runs into the sides of whatever sort of path it’s going down, jerking her arms repeatedly to one side as the car starts to turn.

He watches her, more out of curiosity than anything, until he starts to yawn. Then he stands, walking back to the guest room and sitting on the bed.

The clock says that it's only 9:30, but he's already having trouble keeping his eyes open. He would rather not sleep, because he knows that when he does, there will be nightmares.

He can't shake those, no matter what he's tried.

He kicks his boots off, then lays down, looking up at the ceiling.

He can still hear Felicity playing the game, and he wonders if she’s winning before he falls asleep.

The next morning, he hears a new voice in the house when he wakes up.

“Do you think you should?”

It’s a woman, he can tell that much. Her voice is high and irritating, and she sounds like she has a cold.

“No, I don’t,” Felicity replies. “He usually comes out on his own anyway.”

“Really?” he hears the other voice ask as he rolls out of bed, pulling his boots on. He moves to the door, then walks out into the hallway.

“Yes, really.”

“Well, what’s he look like?”

It becomes apparent that they’re talking about him, and he wonders why. Is someone coming to take him?

His hand moves toward the blade tucked into his belt as he steps into the kitchen, ready for a fight, just in case.

“Like that,” Felicity says once she sees him. “Morning, Bucky.”

“Morning,” he replies, standing at the edge of the tile flooring that marks the edge of the kitchen. He’s looking at the girl sitting with Felicity at the table.

She’s blonde, both of her eyes the same blueish color of Felicity’s left eye.

“This is Jill. She helps me with the riding lessons,” Felicity tells him.

He nods, then walks over to the table, sitting down across from Felicity. He watches Jill out of the corner of his eye, not trusting her.

He can feel her staring at him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, her voice grating to his ears.

“Hello,” he replies. He looks across the table at Felicity.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, pushing her chair back and standing. “I made waffles today,” she tells him as she sets a plate full of them in front of him, along with another full of sausage.

They talk while he eats, about the horses and what he assumes are the students that come to them for lessons.

“I don’t think Jake should be put on Truman,” Felicity says. “He’s still a little too young, and Truman isn’t exactly a push-button horse.”

“ _I_ think Jake can handle him,” Jill says, leaning back in her chair.

“Well I don’t,” Felicity argues. “Jake doesn’t take care of his own tack, he shouldn’t get to switch horses whenever he wants. He should learn to take care of what he’s been given first.”

“Well who pissed in your cereal?” Jill asks.

He doesn’t really know how people talk to each other these days, but he thinks that sounds a bit rude.  He glances at Felicity, whose face is slowly turning red as she glares at Jill.

He guesses that she’s angry.

“I didn’t have cereal, thank you very much!” Felicity says.

“Well excuse me all to pieces!” Jill answers, standing up from her chair. “I’ll be out in the barn if you need me.”

The door slams as she walks out, and Felicity flinches when the sound reaches her ears.

It’s quiet for a bit, the only sound being his fork and knife scraping against the plate in front of him.

“Sorry about that,” Felicity says distractedly after a few minutes. “She can be a piece of work sometimes.”

He shrugs, still eating.

“I didn’t really think that would bother you,” she says, her expression softening. “Did you sleep good?”

He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

Nightmares, thoughts of what could happen while he slept, the mattress feeling like a marshmallow, too squishy to be comfortable.

“The bed’s too soft,” he blurts out.

Felicity tilts her head to one side. “Too soft?” she asks. “What do you mean?”

“It’s too soft. I can’t sleep,” he says as he looks down at his plate. He doesn’t know what to do with all this non-violent attention that he’s getting. He’s used to being debriefed from a mission, and then getting frozen again. Hydra never really asked him how the weather was.

“Hmm,” Felicity hums as she gets up, taking his empty glass over to the sink to refill it. “I think mine is less soft, if you want to switch.”

He nods again as she sets the glass down in front of him.

“Okay. We can switch them later. I have to go out to the stables, but you can do whatever,” Felicity says. “Just please don’t break anything. If you need something, come find me.”

He nods again, and she walks over to the door, grabbing her jacket before going outside.

The house seems quiet without anyone else but himself inside it. He can faintly hear the sounds of people talking and horses neighing and moving around,  but he doesn’t worry about it.

When he finishes eating, he takes the plates and silverware over to the sink, then stands there, not sure if he should wash them or not.

After a moment of inner debate, he decides that Felicity has done the dishes so far, so she should do them all the time. That makes sense.

He nods to himself, then sets the plates and silverware in the sink.

He walks back to the table, sitting down.

What is he supposed to do now?

He tries to think of something to do, but he comes up with nothing. He hasn’t had time to himself for a long time.

Since he can’t think of anything to do, he might as well think over what his plan is.

He needs money, so he’ll work here for a while, maybe a few weeks or so, and by then he should have enough saved to move on. He can’t stay here forever. It’s too close to where he was last seen. He’ll have to leave eventually.

He’ll have to keep heading farther away. Maybe he’ll have enough money soon to buy a car, and then he can drive instead of having to walk.

He’ll have to find some way to make sure that Felicity keeps her word and doesn’t say anything about him.

She seems like the kind of person who does what she says she’ll do. She hasn’t lied to him once while he’s been here. That he knows of. He doesn’t thinks she has. There haven’t been any nervous ticks that would have given her away.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but it doesn’t seem like long before Felicity walks back through the door, looking tired.

“Hey,” she says when she sees him. “Did you just sit there for four hours?”

He nods.

“You could have watched TV or something, you know,” she says as she walks over to the fridge. She sighs. “Are sandwiches alright for lunch?” she asks.

He shrugs. She’s the one making lunch, shouldn’t she pick what they eat?

“Okay. There’s ham, turkey, and salami,” she says, dropping the packages of meat in front of him along with a loaf of bread. “Pick what you want, there’s plenty.”

She sits down across from him, and opens all three of the packages, pulling slices of meat out of them and laying them on a slice of bread.

“Oh!” Felicity says suddenly. “There’s cheese too!”

She stands up, almost running over to the fridge. She tosses the packages of cheese onto the table, then sits back down.

She makes two sandwiches for herself, then starts to eat.

He watches her, not sure what to do.

“Are you gonna make me make you a sandwich?” Felicity asks, her mouth full.

He shakes his head. He’s not going to make her do anything. He isn’t that person anymore. He doesn’t make anyone do anything.

“Then make a sandwich. Eat,” she says, pushing the food toward him.

He makes a sandwich for himself, piling meat and cheese onto the bread before he starts eating.

There’s a knock at the door, and then a small voice calls Felicity’s name.

“Come in,” Felicity says.

The door opens, and just as he’s about to pull out a knife, a little girl with blonde pigtails walks in, a boy with her who looks a little older, but not by much.

“Who are you?” the little girl asks as she climbs into the chair next to him.

“Lucy, this is Bucky,” Felicity says. He looks over at her. “She rides here.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Lucy asks. He furrows his eyebrows. Boyfriend?

“No silly,” Felicity says. “He’s staying here.”

“Are you having a sleepover?” Lucy asks.

Felicity nods with a smile. “Something like that,” she says.

The boy stands off to the side, as if he isn’t sure where to go.

“Jeremy, is that a new shirt?” Felicity asks.

He looks down at it, then nods. “Yeah.”

It’s a blue shirt with two red rings on it, a white ring in between them, and a white star in the middle of the circles. It looks familiar.

“It’s sick!” Felicity says. “Where’d you get it?”

“Delaplane,” he replies. “Mrs. Sue and me drove all day.”

“Was it worth the drive?”

Jeremy nods again. “I like it.”

“Do you guys want a sandwich?” Felicity asks.

Lucy shakes her head, and Jeremy nods. “Yes please,” he says.

“Help yourself then,” she says, gesturing toward the stack of supplies.

Jeremy moves closer, seeming a little wary of him. The boy makes his sandwich quickly, then moves over to sit by Felicity.

“He doesn’t bite,” Felicity giggles. She looks over at him with her different colored eyes, and he feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. When Felicity sees it, she grins wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

They don’t talk very much for a while, except for Lucy’s occasional question about random things in the room. Once Jeremy finishes his sandwich, he and Lucy go back out the door, saying that they’ll be in the stable when Felicity gets done.

When she does finish her sandwich, she takes the nearly empty packages of meat and cheese to the fridge.

“I’m going back out, I’ll be back around six or so,” she tells him before she walks out the door.

He sits back in his chair as he finishes his sandwich, almost grateful that she’s gone, even though it’s too quiet again..

She keeps looking at him, and he’s not sure how to react. It’s not an intimidating stare, no way. He knows he can break her in half without trying. But the way that she looks at him makes him almost uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to do.

It’s not like she’s constantly staring at him, it’s more little glances before she looks back to whatever she’s doing. He’s not used to it. Doesn’t know what to do. She looks at his face, something no one has done since he was turned into what he is.   
Besides that man from the bridge. Steve.

He’s still not sure what to do about that. He’s starting to remember some things, like how Steve wasn’t always that big, but some things are fuzzy and he can’t figure any of it out.

So he decides not to try to figure it out just yet. His head is starting to hurt anyway.

He shakes his head, then gets up, walking over to the couch. Maybe if he just closes his eyes for a bit the headache will go away.

He stretches out along the couch so that he’s facing the door, laying his head on the armrest. A little nap should be alright.

When he wakes up, he smells smoke. He jumps to his feet, causing his head to spin, and looks toward the kitchen. He hears Felicity saying something, and before he's thinking about it, he runs into the kitchen and pulls her away from the stove, where the smoke is coming from, and into the living room.

"Bucky! What are you doing?" she asks.

"Fire," he replies.

"Oh. No, there isn’t a fire. I um… I burned the popcorn," she says patiently. "It smokes a lot." She looks down. "I kinda burn popcorn a lot."

“Oh.” He steps back, letting go of her. She blinks, then looks down at her feet.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him. “So no fire. Just burned popcorn.” She frowns. “Are you okay?”

He nods, even though it makes his head ache even more.

“Okay. I’ll um… go throw the popcorn out,” she says. “Supper should be ready soon.”

He nods again, then sits back down on the couch.

“Thank you though,” she says, and when he looks up at her, she’s half grinning.

“For what?” he asks.

“For saving me from non existent danger,” she says. “It was nice. Should do it again sometime.”

He furrows his eyebrows, confused. What does that mean?

“But -” he starts, but she’s already walking back to the kitchen, so he doesn’t finish asking.

He puts his head in his hands, trying to dull the ache, and it works for a few moments, long enough for Felicity to finish cooking. It comes back when she calls him to the table.

He walks over and sits down, thinking that food will probably help to get rid of the headache.

He was wrong.

The roast beef and potatoes that Felicity made tasted good, even though he didn’t tell her, but it did nothing to help his head. He sits there as she washes the dishes, holding his head.

“Are you alright?” she asks after a little while. She’s been looking over at him more than usual.

He nods, even though it’s an obvious lie.

“That’s crap, what’s wrong?” she asks, sitting down across from him. “Does your head hurt?”

He nods.

“Do you want something for it?” she asks softly. “I think there’s some ibuprofen in the bathroom.”

He looks up at her.

“It’ll make the headache go away for a while,” she explains. “Do you want some?”

He nods. He needs the headache to be gone. It’s messing up his ability to think.

Felicity nods, then gets up, walking down the hall. He hears a door open, then close, and then she’s back, setting two white capsules in front of him.

He looks at her warily.

“It’s not gonna do anything except make the headache go away. I’m not gonna drug you,” she says, and that is almost worse than not knowing what the pills will do. It’s like she can read his mind. “You look like you don’t trust me,” she says, tilting her head to one side. “I’ll go get the bottle if you want. I have a new one that I haven’t opened.”

He shakes his head. She wouldn’t do anything to him. She hasn’t done anything that would lead him to think that she would. He's grateful that she doesn't question his leery actions. She just goes with it, taking them in stride.

“Oh, do you want water for those?” she asks, getting up to fill a glass. He downs the pills before she comes back, but takes the glass anyway, drinking the water.

“Nothing’s happening,” he says after he sets the empty glass back down on the table.

“It’s not instant, it takes about fifteen minutes,” she says with a smile. She stands back up, going back to the dishes.

He stays where he is, impatiently waiting for the medicine to work. Eventually, the ache starts to go away, and by the time Felicity’s finished the dishes and put them away, his head feels normal again.

Well, as normal as it can.

The next day, he goes out to the stables with her after breakfast.

“The stuff to clean out the stalls is over there,” she tells him, pointing to a wall with rakes and pitchforks hung on it. “Um… there isn’t a set time for when you should be done, so take as long as you want.”

He nods. They’re here before most of the kids that take lessons arrive, Felicity said that most of them show up around eleven. It’s 9:30 now.

The horses are out in the pastures, and Felicity tells him that it’s because it was warmer out last night than it usually is.

He grabs a pitchfork and sets it in the wheelbarrow, then wheels it to the door of the nearest stall.

He doesn’t hurry, but he gets done just as the first few riders walk in. Felicity says hello to each of them as they walk out to get their horses, asking them how their days are going.

He sees Jeremy and Lucy, and Lucy smiles and waves at him when she walks her horse back to it’s stall.

He puts the fork and wheelbarrow away, and then walks out to find Felicity. He spots her leaning on the fence as a few of her students lead their horses around the dirt arena.

“I’m done,” he tells her when he walks up next to her. “What now?”

She looks over at him. “You don’t have to do anything else,” she says. “You can watch if you want,” she suggests, nodding toward the kids in the arena.

He shrugs, then leans his forearms on the fence, similarly to the way Felicity is. He doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know what it feels like to want.

Felicity moves away after a moment, telling the riders what to do as she moves into the arena.

She’d been writing when he came out for breakfast. He knows it’s probably not considered polite, but he peeked at the piece of pink paper that she’d left on the table as she went to get the syrup that he asked for.

_Dear Goofball,_

_It’s completely fine if you aren’t here for Thanksgiving, I understand. Mom might be a little upset though._

She must be writing to someone. Letters are something he can understand. That’s familiar. He thinks he remembers writing letters to someone before everything happened.

That was very long ago. Or maybe not. He isn’t sure. It doesn’t feel like it’s been very long, but he knows it’s been longer than he thinks.

He shakes his head as Felicity walks back, then climbs onto the fence to sit on the top rail.

“Jamie, keep your heels down!” she calls to one of the girls on a big brown horse.

He isn't sure how she isn't just yelling at them all by now. There's something that each of them is doing wrong, judging by the way she's telling every single one of them something to fix as they ride past her.

Keep your heels down, sit up straight, loosen your grip, use your legs more than your hands.

Something different for each of them.

He doesn’t understand how she can be so patient. She has to do this every day?

He stays out there and sort of watches the lessons, but he mostly watches Felicity. He’s trying to figure out where the limp came from, because it doesn’t seem to be going away.

Maybe it was something horse related, since she spends so much of her time around the big animals.

When she walks back over to him and leans on the fence, he almost asks about it.

But he doesn’t. Instead he studies her. He knows she feels his eyes on her, she won’t stop moving, fidgeting, but she doesn’t say anything.

Her boot covers the bottom half of her leg, but the steady creak, click, creak, click makes him wonder what could be under the boot. It’s her right leg for sure, the left doesn’t make any sort of noise like that when she moves it.

“You can go back inside the house if you don’t want to stay out here,” Felicity tells him eventually. It’s been a few hours since he walked over. She must be getting irritated by the way he keeps looking at her.

“Where did you get the limp?” he asks instead.

“Horse accident,” she says. He nods. He had it right. “ I used to work at a breeding stable before I got this place, and they had me in charge of the stallions. There was one big black one that was pretty moody, and I caught him on a bad day.”

She lifts her foot up onto the fence, pointing to the arch of her foot.

“Shattered everything through here, then snapped the bones here.” She points to about halfway down her calf. “My foot was hanging by a tendon when they got me into the ambulance.”

She looks back out at the group of kids, and that’s that.

“I lost my job after that, and my boyfriend,” she says absently. She shrugs, then walks out into the middle of the circle of riders. “That’s enough for today, good job everybody.”

The kids walk their horses to their stalls, and he follows Felicity as she walks to the door of the barn. She stands there until all of them are gone, except for Jeremy and Lucy.

“Are you two ready for some lunch?” she asks when they walk up to her.

“Yeah!” both of the children cheer. Lucy jumps up, trying to climb onto Felicity’s back, and she bends down to help the little girl.

“Did they answer you yet?” Lucy asks as they walk toward the house.

Felicity shakes her head. “Nope, not yet. I’m still waiting.” He looks at her curiously, and she says, “I’ll tell you later.”

Then they’re inside, and they eat sandwiches for lunch.

Time doesn’t seem like it goes by very fast, with Lucy’s constant questioning and Jeremy’s sullen face, but it’s less than an hour before the two children are out the door, Felicity waving at a car in the driveway.

He stays at the table, where he’s been since they came inside. He waits for Felicity to sit down, then he looks over at her, wanting an explanation.

“I’m trying to adopt them,” she tells him. “I have been for at least a year. But I haven’t gotten a final yes or no from the agency about it.” She sits on her hands, then nods. “That’s about it.”

He nods.

“Is there anything else to do today?” he asks.

Felicity shakes her head. “Nope. That was the last lesson for today.” She makes a face as she thinks. “Unless you want to help me move some hay down from the loft.”

He nods, then stands.

“Okay then, we can go now,” Felicity says as she pushes her chair under the table.

They walk out to the stables, then climb the ladder to the loft.

It’s more rickety than he originally thought, creaking nearly every time he grasps a new rung.

This wouldn’t have gotten him very far. Felicity would have heard the noise and found him before he reached the top.

“Just toss them down,” she tells him, reaching over on the stack to grab one of the bales. She walks to the edge of the loft floor, then drops the bale, watching as it falls. He picks one up, and does the same thing.

They both walk back and forth about six or seven times before Felicity says that they probably have enough, and then they climb back down the ladder to stack them.

Felicity insists that they stack the bales so that there’s enough room for a kid to hide behind them (because sometimes they like to play hide and seek, and she’s alright with it, as long as they don’t scare the horses), so they make sure to leave a child sized space between two rows of the bales.

As they walk out of the barn, he spots a door that’s barely open, and sees something shiny inside. He walks over, pushing the door open so he can see what it is.

“That’s grandpa’s old motorcycle,” Felicity tells him. “It stopped running about five years ago, and I have no clue how to fix it.”

She looks at him, then asks.

“Would you happen to know how?”

He nods. Motors are easy to figure out. Much easier than people.

“If you can get it running, you can have it,” she says. “It’s taking up space that I could use for something else.”

He nods again, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s got something to drive.

Even though it doesn’t seem like they took very long, it’s almost dark outside as they walk back to the house.

“I um... I’m gonna take a shower, but I’ll make something to eat after that,” Felicity tells him before she disappears down the hall.

He walks over to the couch, sitting down as he hears the water start running, and goes over his plan again, making an addition of a vehicle.

He’ll stay as long as it takes to fix the motorcycle, then see how much money he’s got before he makes his next move. How long will that take though?

Hopefully not more than a month. He shouldn’t stay too long, or he might be found. He would rather not be found. He knows that whoever finds him - Shield or Hydra - will try to get into his head, and he won’t go through that again. Not without putting up some sort of fight.

He’s not sure of the details of what happened, or exactly how many times it happened, but he knows that having someone else in his head isn’t something he likes.

Felicity walks back into the kitchen about half an hour later, her hair dripping onto her shirt as she moves around the room.

Her hair is very long. He didn’t notice that earlier. She was wearing it up then.

She’s also still wearing shoes. Well, slippers, but her feet are still covered.

Long pants, keeps her feet covered all the time, maybe there’s something there that she’s trying to keep hidden.

Or maybe her feet get cold. He’s betting on the first thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Seven days. He’s been there seven days. It makes him anxious, not moving on, staying in the same place for so long.

Each day has been mostly the same - go out to the stable with Felicity after breakfast every morning, fix a few things that she says need to be fixed, and then work on the motorcycle. At first he thought he could just poke around until he found the problem, but after the first couple days, he found that it would be easier to just take the engine apart and put it back together again. 

Felicity took him around the stables the second day, telling him what each horse's name was, and a few details on each one. He doesn't remember everything about all of them, but there was one horse that caught his eye.

The mare is white, with one black leg and what looks like a black mask. Felicity calls her Jolene, and says that she's pretty old for a horse. Felicity also said that she liked jelly beans. 

She said that Truman, a half black, half white gelding, was fussy about most everything, and always needs a good walk before someone rides him.

He distinctly remembers a big black stallion - Felicity called him Cobalt - that chews on the stall door if he doesn't get his breakfast first. Felicity says that he's boarded here by one of her students.

There are two ponies named Nickel and Dime, both of them barely tall enough to reach his waist. They were friendly when Felicity called them, coming right up to the stall door and whinnying to be pet. They're very soft.

Things seem to mostly be going good. Well, almost.

The headaches have gotten worse, to the point where he’s only able to function properly when he’s had medicine. Felicity keeps looking at him, and that only makes them worse. He knows he looks weak, and he doesn’t like it.

But it can’t be helped at this point. His head feels like someone is constantly yelling in his ear, or shooting a gun off right next to him. Every little noise is irritating. Except - for some reason that he doesn’t understand - Felicity. She’s not irritating when she asks him if he needs something else, or if he wants to take the day off and rest. He says no each time, but he almost looks forward to hearing her ask every day. It’s become normal.

Until one night, when it all falls apart. Well, _he_ falls apart, anyway.

It’s very late - probably one or two in the morning - and he’s almost finally asleep when he feels it. Before he can blink he’s running to the bathroom, heaving up the contents of his stomach into the toilet. The acid burns his throat, and his eyes start to water.

He isn’t sure how long it goes on, or when the soft fingers start to pull his hair back from his face, but when he registers Felicity kneeling next to him, he tries to push her away with shaky, clammy hands.

She doesn’t go far. He doesn’t push very hard either.

“Hey, none of that. I’m staying,” she says firmly.

When he’s finished, she flushes the toilet, then hands him a towel to clean up.

“Are you good now?” she asks.

He shakes his head. He’s not good, he hasn’t been for a while now.

“Are you gonna puke again?” she asks. “Please don’t do it on me. I draw the line there.”

Her hands are still in his hair, but he doesn’t push them away. It’s oddly soothing.

“Was the food bad?” she asks. “Be honest.”

He shakes his head.

“You aren’t allergic to anything, are you? I suppose I should have asked that a while ago.”

He shakes his head again. He doesn't know for sure, but he doesn't think he's allergic to anything.

He feels the back of her hand on his forehead. “Fever…” she mutters.

He feels his stomach rising again, and weakly shoves her hands away from him as he heaves into the toilet again.

She pulls his hair back again, this time wrapping something around it to hold it back. She gets up, then reaches into the cupboard above the sink.

“Nothing’s expired, so we’re good there,” she says. “Are you sure the food tasted right? Sometimes I can’t get the chicken cooked all the way through -”

“It was fine,” he says. “The food was fine, it’s not that.”

He sees her tilt her head to one side. “Then what is it?” she asks.

“I don’t know!” he growls, immediately regretting it when his head spins and everything goes black.

“Bucky?” he hears before his eyes open again. Felicity’s hovering over him, looking nervous.

“What happened?” he asks.

“You blacked out,” she tells him. “Can you tell me what day it is? Where you are?”

“Thursday,” he answers. "Outside of Marshall. In Virginia."

Felicity nods. “Is there something else you aren’t telling me?”

There’s plenty of things he isn’t telling her. He bets there are lots of things she isn’t telling him. That’s how it works.

He tries to sit up, but Felicity gently pushes him back down onto the cool tile of the floor.

“Uh uh, stay down, just in case,” she says. “Don’t need you cracking your head open.” She puts her hand on his forehead again. “What else is there? You aren’t like, a druggie or something, are you?”

He shakes his head. Not on purpose. He knows that he’s been given some sort of drug by Hydra before when they were working on the arm, but he’s not sure what it was.

But he hasn’t had it for longer than it usually is between cryo sleeps, so he assumes that his body must be going through a withdrawal.

“Okay. Are you sure?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. He nods. “There’s just something that has to get out of your system?”

He nods again. That part is true.

“Alright. So it’s gonna take a couple days then,” she says. “You’re gonna have to stay in bed and rest.”

He starts to shake his head, but she keeps talking.

“Don’t argue with me on this one. It’ll help you in the long run. Consider it a paid vacation.”

He huffs, mostly because he doesn’t see a way to argue with her, but also because it’s too hot, and his skin feels too small, like it’s stretched out to cover him.

He doesn’t protest when she helps him up, mostly because he can barely stand on his own. His limbs are shaky and he’s sweating everywhere. Felicity helps him back to bed, then goes back to the bathroom, coming back with a wet rag that she sets on his forehead.

“That’s about all I can do for now,” she says. “Try and sleep. Yell if you need anything.”

She walks out the door, going back to her room.

“Felicity,” he calls.

Her head pops back around the doorframe. “What?”

“I’m too hot,” he says. The house feels like a desert. Too hot and not enough water.

“Hot damn,” she says, then she giggles, like she’s just told a joke. He doesn’t get it. “Maybe you should take your shirt off or something. It might help.”

He shakes his head. Nope. Not happening. She’ll see the arm and that’ll be the end of her not telling anyone.

“Okay then,” she says. “I’ll go get a fan.”

She disappears, then comes back a few seconds later, a white box fan in one hand and her phone in the other.

She frowns at the screen that lights up her face, then sets the phone on the nightstand along with the fan. She plugs it into the wall, then turns it on.

“Better?” she asks. He nods. “Do you want some water?” He nods again.

She goes out into the hallway, coming back with a glass of water. She hands it to him, then sits down on the edge of the bed.

She watches as he drinks most of the water, then holds it out to her. She half smiles, then sets it on the nightstand.

“Just make sure you don’t spill it,” she says as she stands again. “Anything else?”

He doesn’t answer, but he thinks that having her fingers in his hair again wouldn’t be so bad.

But how does he ask for that?

“How do you know… this?” he asks, stumbling for the words.

“My brother had a friend,” she tells him, as if that’s enough of an explanation. “He used to do drugs, but then he decided to quit, and he went through really bad withdrawals.” She frowns, looking away. “It wasn’t pretty.”

She starts walking toward the door.

“If you need anything else, I’m right down the hall,” she says. He nods, and she steps out.

“Felicity?”

“Hmm?” she hums, stepping back into the doorway.

He fishmouths, not sure how to ask for it.

“Thank you,” he says finally.

“You’re welcome,” she quietly replies. “Goodnight.”

Then she’s gone, and his head hurts worse than ever. It’s going to be a long night.

The next morning, the headache is still there, but he doesn’t feel as sick. Just sweaty and shaky. He can barely pick up the glass of water off of the nightstand without spilling half of it on the sheets.

He sets the glass back on the nightstand after he finishes the rest of it, then flops back onto the pillows, shivering.

“Felicity!”

He hears something fall, followed by a quiet _ow_ , and then

“What?”

She whips around the corner, her hair flying everywhere, stopping in the doorway.

He holds out the empty glass.

“Water.”

It hurts to talk, so he doesn’t bother with the _please_.

She walks over to him, taking the glass.

When she brings it back, she pushes his hair out of his face, then puts her hand on his forehead.

“Still warm,” she mutters. He shivers. “Are you cold?”

He nods.

“Blanket then,” she says. She walks to the foot of the bed, opening the trunk that’s sitting there. “Oh,” she says as her eyes widen.

She holds up his rifle.

“Is there any particular reason you felt the need to leave this here?”

He sits up immediately, reaching for it even though his head is spinning

“I’m not going to shoot anything,” Felicity says as she hands it over. “Do you really need it?”

“Yes.”

She just shrugs. “If you say so.” She pulls a quilt from inside the trunk, then tosses it to him.

“Anything else?” she asks as the blanket lands in his lap. He unfolds it after he sets the rifle next to him, then spreads it out over his legs.

He shakes his head.

“I’m almost done with breakfast, so stay there, I’ll bring it in for you.”

He huffs as she walks out. He’s not a child. He doesn’t need to be mothered like he’s three years old.

She brings him breakfast in bed, tray and all, and sits on the edge of the bed while he eats it. He doesn’t mind as much as he thinks he should.

When he’s done, Felicity takes the tray back out to the kitchen, then comes back.

“I’ll be outside till around lunch. If you need anything, yell. I left a window in the kitchen open, I’ll probably hear you.”

He opens his mouth to tell her that he can walk, but she keeps talking.

“Stay in bed. Just in case. I don’t need you passing out and breaking something or getting hurt. I’m not sure if I can carry you back to bed by myself if you’re out.”

He scowls at her, not happy with the arrangement.

“I’ll be back in to make lunch,” she says. And then she’s gone.

He wakes up from an almost peaceful sleep when he hears her come back inside, and there are other voices with her.

“Felicity? Can we have pudding?”

“Let me see if I have any,” Felicity answers.

A few moments later, she walks down the hall, knocking before she slowly opens the door.

“Are you doing alright?” she asks.

He nods. Besides having nothing to do except be anxious about staying in the same room all day, he’s been fine. His hands haven’t stopped shaking either.

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure. I’ll bring some lunch in once it’s done.”

“I can get up,” he huffs, but she’s already gone.

He hears her talking with Lucy and Jeremy, but doesn’t pay attention to what they’re saying. He knows Felicity is giving them some sort of explanation as to where he is, but it doesn’t really matter.

What does matter is that he’s losing time. He should be working, getting money, fixing that motorcycle, so he can get out of here. He can’t do that if he stays in bed for who knows how long.

He doesn’t like it.

Felicity pushes the door open a few minutes later, another tray full of food in her hands.

“It would have been here earlier, but Lucy wanted to draw you a picture,” she says with a smile as she sets it next to him on the bed.

“What is this?” he asks when he sees the piece of paper with bright colors all over it.

“I think it’s supposed to be you,” Felicity says as she looks at it. “Just maybe less grumpy.”

He can see that, he guesses. This child obviously isn’t skilled as an artist.

“I’m not grumpy,” he says, setting the picture on the nightstand. He picks up the fork from the tray, then starts eating.

“If you say so,” Felicity says in amusement. He glares at her, marinara sauce dripping down his chin, and she puts her hand over her mouth to cover her smile. “You um... you got some sauce…” She points to her chin. “Right there.”

He wipes it off with his sleeve, and almost grins when Felicity groans.

“There’s literally a perfectly good napkin in front of you,” she scolds. He shrugs, and she gets up, walking out of the room and closing the door.

He laughs quietly, for the first time in forever.

When Felicity peeks into his room after coming in from the second round of lessons the next day, she looks tired.

“Hey,” she says when he looks at her. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods, even though his hands are still shaky. Staying in this room isn’t helping him.

“Cool. You wanna watch a movie while we eat?”

He shrugs. Anything to get out of here. It feels like he’s in a cell.

“Can you get up or do you need help?” she asks, rubbing her eye with her fist.

“I can get up,” he says with a scowl.

“Okay,” Felicity replies.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, then stands. His hands are still shaky, but his legs are steady as he follows Felicity into the hallway, then over to the couch.

“It’s just leftover spaghetti from lunch,” she says as she sits down next to him, filling her plate from the pan that’s sitting on the coffee table in front of them. “I didn’t wanna make anything else.”

She leans back against the couch, propping her feet up on the table, then reaches for a black thing next to her. She presses one of the buttons, and the screen on the wall lights up.

“Do you like Disney?” she asks.

He shrugs. He’s heard of it, he sort of remembers that much.

“Well, _I_ like Disney,” she says. “This one is my favorite.”

Music starts to play, and then the screen changes.

_Walt Disney Pictures Presents_

It changes again.

**The Sword in the Stone. Technicolor.**

That’s followed by a whole lot of names, and then someone is singing.

He can see Felicity watching intently out of the corner of his eye, a small smile on her face as the scene changes to an old man pulling a bucket from a well, all while complaining about how there isn’t any sort of technology in medieval times.

It seems so simple. Why is it her favorite?

She giggles once in awhile, when she finds something funny, but she doesn’t show a lot of emotion until the characters start singing.

Then she sings along, quietly at first, but after the first few lines, she  starts bouncing around and flailing her arms everywhere.

Her singing is very out of tune. He wonders if it’s on purpose.

She doesn’t seem like a dame that can’t sing. When she tries, at least.

When the song finishes with a (very loud, if you’re Felicity) ‘ _prestidigitonyum_!’ she kind of pauses, then looks over at him, like she’s just remembered that he’s there too.

“Sorry,” she says. “Was that too much?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just looking at her curiously, then he slowly shakes his head.

She sighs. “Cool. Thank you for not freaking out.”

The rest of the movie goes like that, both of the eating their meal - well, he keeps eating, Felicity stops whenever there’s a song - until the screen turns blue again, and the movie is over.

“That was fun,” Felicity says. “You wanna watch another?”

When he doesn’t answer, she stands, taking both of their plates and the now empty pan to the kitchen.

“There’s a whole bunch in that cabinet, if you want to pick another one,” she calls over her shoulder.

He looks over, and sees an open door, several thin boxes lined up on the shelves inside it. It can’t hurt to look.

He reaches in, pulling out one of the boxes.

**Tangled**?

Judging from the picture on the front, it’s about a girl. With a lot of hair.

He shakes his head, putting it back and reaching for another.

**One Hundred and One Dalmatians**. Dogs. Lots of dogs.

**Pocahontas**. Indians.

**Toy Story** , **Toy Story 2** , **Toy Story 3**. How many _are_ there?

**Brave**. Archery. And a girl with red hair.

**The Little Mermaid**. A mermaid and a human.

**Snow White**.

He frowns. This one looks familiar. He’s seen that face before. The girl on the box looks familiar.

_‘Come on Buck, I bought my ticket already, I don’t want to miss it!’_

_‘Keep your shirt on Stevie, we’ll make it.'_

He blinks, shaking his head. He’s seen this movie before, he’s sure of it.

“That was the first one I saw at the drive in!” Felicity says excitedly from behind him.

He raises an eyebrow after turning to look at her.

“There’s a drive in theater just outside of Marshall,” she explains. “It’s kind of old, but it’s still in business.” She nods toward the movie in his hands. “You wanna watch it?”

He hands it to her, then sits back on the couch.

She sits next to him a moment later, as the screen changes and the movie starts.

“Have you seen this one?” she asks.

He nods. “I think so.”

 

He has.

He remembers a voice singing the same songs, but it’s a man instead of Snow White.

Steve.

_Walking around the apartment as he cleaned, the windows open to let the spring air in after a long, cold winter of frozen pipes and chattering teeth._

_‘Whistle while you work…’_

 

_Coming home from his first completely-by-himself night out with a dame._

_‘One soooooong, I have but one sooooong...’_

 

_Dancing around the kitchen with - with Steve._

_‘Isn’t this a silly song for anyone to sing…’_

He shakes his head at the now blue screen, then stands.

“You okay?”

His head jerks over to Felicity, whose different colored eyes are looking curiously at him.

He nods. “Yeah.”

He dreams about the past that night. His past. Of things he doesn’t exactly remember doing, but he knows he’s done them.

_He sees himself follow a shield into a dark building, sees himself take out guards to protect the man with the shield. Steve._

_He sees himself on a rocky ledge, shooting down a man aiming his gun at Steve - that of course Steve didn’t see. Always more concerned with everyone else than himself._

__

_‘Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.’_

_‘How can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.’_

__

_‘Punk.’_

_‘Jerk.’_

The next day, his head hurts less, and his hands are a good bit steadier as he continues to piece the engine of the motorcycle back together. Felicity wasn’t sure if going right back outside was the best thing for him, but she figured out that she couldn’t really stop him after a few minutes of arguing.

Well, she argued, he stood there with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

In the end, she’d let him go with a muttered, ‘make sure you’re back inside for lunch.’

He half smiled at the small victory after Felicity walked away.

He can hear Felicity talking to several of the kids, because he’s not that far away from where everyone else is, and it’s strangely comforting. She always makes a point to let him know where she is, whether it’s telling him or making some sort of sound.

He doesn’t tell her, but he appreciates it.

He comes in for lunch, after finding out that he’s missing a few parts that are critical to getting the motor running.

“So how is it coming?” Felicity asks.

“There are a few parts missing,” he says.

“Do you need to go to the parts store?” she asks as she sits down across from him. “I’ve got the rest of the day free, we could go after we eat.”

He nods.

So they do. Felicity drives up into town, this time with no seatbelt mishaps, and parks in front of a store that looks very much like an auto shop.

There’s shelves all over the large room of the store, each of them with signs on the end saying what they contain.

“I have no clue what _any_ of this stuff is,” Felicity says as they walk through the door.

It’s as if her voice draws them out of the back, because almost immediately there are three men walking over to the counter, all of them smiling at Felicity.

She politely smiles back, then turns to him.

“What do you need?”

He looks around, then spots the aisle with the parts he needs. Felicity follows as he weaves through the shelves. He glances back at the counter a few times as he scans over the pictures on the sides of the boxes, and the way that the men there are still just blatantly staring at Felicity makes his skin crawl.

Felicity isn’t paying attention, she’s looking at her phone.

He glares at them, and they look away for a moment, turning instead to each other.

Satisfied, he returns to the task at hand, and soon he has all the parts he needs.

He takes them up to the counter, Felicity right behind him.

“Did you find everything you need?” one of the men asks as another scans the boxes. His name tag says ‘Alex.’

He nods.

“Alright, your total is $136.85.”

Just as he’s starting to panic about how he’s going to pay for all of it, Felicity slides her card through the machine.

“You don’t have to -”

Felicity waves her hand dismissively.

“It’s fine. Just take me for a ride or something once you get it running again,” she says with a grin.

He feels like he should protest, because he _does_ have his own money, and he _can_ pay for things on his own, but this seems simpler.

So he nods, and grabs the bag that’s handed to him.

As they walk out, he feels Felicity move closer to him than she usually does, but he assumes that’s because she wants to get out of the store faster.

When they get outside, Felicity looks over at him with a grin, but doesn’t say anything until they get into the car and she starts driving.

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?” he asks.

“You glaring at them,” she says. She’s smiling like she’s just won a million dollars.

“What about it?” he asks defensively. They were staring at her like she was a meal. He wasn’t going to just stand there and let them. Dames shouldn’t be treated like that.

Felicity shrugs. “I dunno. It was cute.”

Cute? He raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, you looked very grumpy. Much manly. Sorry,” she corrects, still grinning.

“I’m not grumpy,” he insists.

“So that’s just your normal expression?” she asks. “You have resting bitch face?”

He glares at her, and she puts a hand up.

“No, it’s cool. It’s not like it’s a bad thing. Just means you look grumpy all the time. Even if you aren’t,” she adds after she sees the look on his face.

She shrugs, then frowns at the windshield, and that’s that.

The drive back is quiet, the radio being the only noise in the car. But inside his head is loud.

When they get back to the house, Felicity parks the car, then climbs out.

“Supper’ll be in a little while. I’ll be in the basement if you need something,” she says as they walk into the house.

She turns down the hallway, then into her room. He goes to the kitchen to pull the jug of milk out of the fridge, then leans against the counter as he drinks straight out of it.

“You can’t just get a glass?” Felicity asks as she walks past him. “This is like, the fourth time.”

She’s changed her clothes. Now she’s wearing tight black pants and a shirt with the sleeves cut off. She’s pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she passes him.

He doesn’t put the milk back.

She opens a door, then walks through it, leaving it open. He can hear her steps echoing, and guesses that she’s going down a set of steps.

He steps over and looks through the door, and indeed, there are stairs.

He shrugs, sets the milk back in the fridge, then goes outside. He’s got a bike to finish.

He doesn’t finish. He does about half of what he needs to do, but can’t quite get any more done before his stomach tells him to go back inside and eat.

There’s potatoes and what looks like steak on the table, but no Felicity. He looks down the hall just as she comes out of her room, tripping on seemingly nothing before walking out into the kitchen.

“Hey,” she says. She’s taken a shower, her hair is wet again. “Do you mind if we eat on the couch again?”

He shakes his head. The couch is more comfortable.

“Cool,” she says. “Can you take this -” she hands him the bowl of mashed potatoes “- and set it on the coffee table please?”

He does what she says, then sits down on the couch. Felicity walks over a few seconds later with the steak, two plates, silverware, and two glasses of milk. He’s not sure how she managed to carry it all in one trip, but she did.

“So, another Disney movie?” she asks.

He looks at the cabinet of movies. “What other ones do you have?”

Felicity smiles. “Almost all of them. I don’t have Cars though. Lucy broke it the last time we had a sleepover.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “How old are the ones you have?” he asks.

“Well, Snow White is the oldest, I think the next one was - I only have the animated ones. Unless you like Davy Crockett. I have the whole TV series of that show - I’m pretty sure the next one is Pinocchio.”

“Strings,” he says, remembering a line from the movie.

Felicity nods. “I always thought that song was a little weird.” She shudders. “I’m a weird kid though, so…” She looks back up at him. “You wanna watch it?”

He nods. If one movie is bringing back things he’s forgotten, more of them might bring back more memories.

So they watch all of them.


	4. Chapter 4

They watch every Disney movie that Felicity has - not all at once though, because Felicity says that no one can stay awake that long. So they split it up, and decide to watch a few every night - and it works.

He remembers.

They watch Pinocchio.

_He remembers laughing about the fox and how ridiculous he looked, then Steve being sad when everyone turned into a donkey._

__

Then they watch Dumbo the next night.

_He remembers laughing his head off with Steve while watching the parade of the pink elephants after sneaking into the theater. Steve had just barely escaped yet another beating at the hands of a guy who was getting too rough with his girl - of course Steve had to step in, he always did. Which meant that Steve needed him to step in when it got to be a little too much. And he did, just like always._

They watch Bambi the day after that.

_He remembers laughing when Bambi called the skunk a flower. There were others with him and Steve that night, but their faces aren’t as clear. Steve’s face is always clear when he remembers something. He thinks there was a dame with Steve that night, but he isn’t sure._

Then they run out of movies that he’s seen, but there are so many _more_ \- even though Felicity’s just got the animated ones - and he doesn’t object when she asks if he wants to keep going. It’s helping him remember. He can see things from his past when he watches them, and he remembers more and more each time.

There are so many memories that the headaches start to come back, but not in the same way. It’s more of an overload, like he doesn’t have enough room inside his head for everything.

He smiles a little more when they watch them, and Felicity doesn’t say anything. Probably because it’s dark whenever they’re doing it, and she can’t quite see him. It’s like he’s finding himself again, and he doesn’t have to try very hard at all, it’s just coming naturally.

Felicity always offers some sort of commentary when they watch, like asking why Cinderella’s shoe kept falling off if it fit her perfectly, or what was going on in the Black Cauldron, because she’s seen it at least six or seven times and she still can’t quite figure it out.

She doesn’t agree with Ariel’s view about Eric - because she didn’t even talk to him, how do you love somebody just like that? (It’s never happened to her anyway).

She doesn’t get how Tarzan has an American accent if he just learned to speak English from a British person. (That one didn’t make sense to him either, but he wasn’t as vocal about it).

Other than that, she sits quietly until there’s a song - then she sings, of course. He’s learned the words to a few of them, but he doesn’t dare try to sing along with her. He just isn’t that comfortable yet.

After three _more_ weeks, they’ve watched all of the animated movies, and on a Thursday night, Felicity is sitting on the couch, setting up a Netflix account so they can find the others.

“I remember Fantasia freaked me out when I was little,” she tells him absently. She’s been doing that a lot more lately. She tells him things about herself, without him asking.

He’s become used to it. Just like he’s become used to her strange eyes, and how he can always feel them on his back, but when he turns around, she’s looking the other way. She always seems uncertain around him, like she doesn’t quite know how to handle him. He doesn’t blame her.

They’ve sort of built a routine. Breakfast in the morning - pancakes and sausage has become the staple food - then work for both of them, lunch, she goes back to lessons while he works on the motorcycle - he’s nearly done, though he’s been spending less and less time on it every day - and after supper, they sit down and watch Disney movies until Felicity can’t keep her eyes open any longer.

“A lot of things freaked you out,” he replies.

It’s true. She says that several of the movies have parts that scare her, or make her so angry because why are the characters so-

She never actually finishes that sentence. She always stops there.

“I’m a weird kid,” she replies.

He sits down on the couch next to her.

“What is that?” he asks.

“The terms and conditions,” she replies. “I’m supposed to read them before I agree to them. That’s what adults do. I’m an adult.”

She’s had a long day. She gets like that when the kids have been irritating. Punchy, laughing at every little thing, then crashing after about three movies.

He’s thrown a blanket over her a few times when she’s fallen asleep on the couch, and though she never mentions it, there’s always extra pancakes on his plate the next morning.

Felicity laughs, then hands the laptop to him. “What one do you want?”

He looks at the small screen, moving a finger on his flesh hand across the rectangle below the keyboard like he’s seen Felicity do to pick the movie.

They’ve seen about half of the movies that are on here, he thinks.

But not _that_ one.

He clicks on **Fun and Fancy Free** , then hands the laptop back to Felicity. It’s sort of a silent agreement that she’s the one that holds it while they watch movies or she shows him something on YouTube.

Neither one of them has said anything about it, but it’s become a usual thing.

So when her phone rings, she pauses the movie, even though it’s barely started, and sets the laptop on the couch before she gets up, going into the kitchen, where her phone is.

“Hey mom,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

He hears her gasp.

“Are you - are you sure?” Her voice cracks on the last word. “When is - Okay. I’ll be there. Love you too.”

When she sits back down, she looks shell shocked, like she’s just been scared.

“Felicity?” he asks.

Her eyes start to water, and not in the way that they do when there’s an emotional part in a movie. She looks like she’s about to - No, don’t _cry_. He doesn’t know how to deal with actual crying right now. Not yet. He’s barely gotten to the point where he can bump into her without cursing himself. He can’t quite handle comforting someone yet. Too much physical contact involved.

But she blinks, and - while her eyes are still red - she looks more composed.

“That was my mom,” she says quietly. “My brother -”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but he almost thinks that she doesn’t have to. He knows what she’s trying to say.

Her brother is in the army, stationed in Afghanistan. He’s in one of the more elite groups - she was proud to tell him that - so the base that he’s at is the one under the most fire, closest to the front lines.

He writes letters to her when he’s not avoiding death. On blue paper. She writes back on pink paper.

She’s told him that it’s a thing between the two of them. She hates the color pink, and he’s not fond of blue, so they use them to write to each other.

It didn’t make sense when Felicity told it to him either.

“They said the jeep was wrecked, and that everyone inside was -”

She doesn’t finish her sentence.

Instead she shakes her head, picks up the laptop, and clicks play.

She’s quiet for the rest of the night, even through three movies, with six different songs that he _knows_ she knows. She knows every song in these movies, even the ones that aren’t as popular.

When they split off and he walks into the guest room - Felicity calls it his, but it isn’t. It probably won’t ever be - he almost feels sad. He hears her sniffle before the door to her room closes, and that’s worse than if she’d cried right in front of him.

The next morning is a little better. Felicity’s eyes are red, but she’s nearly her normal, awkward self. She doesn’t look him in the eye when she asks if he wants syrup, but he doesn’t immediately think that it’s because she’s afraid.

He could be wrong.

So when she leaves later that afternoon, dressed in black pants and a black sweater, he thinks that he’s spent more than enough time here.

The motorcycle is nearly done, he just needs to tweak a few things before it will run. It’ll be easy, once he gets started.

But he can’t find it in himself to move.

He’s still in the same place as he was when Felicity left when she comes back later that evening, wearing a jacket that is most definitely not hers.

It’s a dark blue, with stripes on the sleeves and pins on the chest.

“Thank you,” she calls to someone outside.

When she turns and sees him, she sniffles.

“I um… I’m probably going to cry a lot now,” she says. “So I’m gonna go in my room. Not sure when I’ll be out.”

She walks past him quickly, nearly running into her room and shutting the door.

That night, he can’t sleep. And it’s not because of the mattress.

He can hear her crying, she isn’t bothering to try and hide it, and it makes something in him hurt. That confuses him, because it isn’t a hurt that can be fixed. He knows that.

The next morning, her door is open as he walks past it on his way to the kitchen. She’s still in bed, curled up inside the jacket, asleep.

She’s probably not going to be up for making breakfast.

Maybe he could do it today. It can’t be that hard to make pancakes, right?

He walks over to the cupboards, opening them one by one until he finds the pancake mix. It seems more convenient than making them from scratch.

Within a few minutes, he’s read over the instructions on the box, and is mixing the batter in a bowl.

“What’re you doing?” he hears from the other side of the kitchen.

He turns, and Felicity is standing there, looking very tired, nearly swallowed up in the huge blue sweater and sweatpants that she’s wearing.

“Making breakfast,” he answers.

“Oh.” She rubs her eye with her fist, which is covered by the sleeve of the sweater. “I can do it,” she says as she walks over.

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. Go back to bed.”

She blinks up at him, and her eyes are just as red, if not worse, than they were when she came home.

“Okay. Thank you.”

He feels her arms wind around his waist, and tenses momentarily.

“You smell good,” Felicity mutters.

“Thank you?” he answers.

“I’m gonna go back to bed now,” she murmurs as she lets go of him.

She shuffles away, and he thinks that she looks cute when she’s sleepy. It’s just not good that she’s sad along with being sleepy.

He finishes the pancakes - using up the rest of the mix in the process - and fries up some sausage in a skillet.

Then he finds the tray - after tearing apart the kitchen looking for it - and sets some pancakes and sausage on a plate on the tray along with a glass of milk.

Felicity always drinks coffee in the morning with breakfast, but he can’t for the life of him figure out how to work the coffee maker, so he went with milk.

He may or may not have drank out of the jug while he was making breakfast, but Felicity wasn’t out in the kitchen to tell him not to.

He frowns in concentration as he carries the tray to Felicity’s room, then carefully holds it in one hand as he knocks on the door.

“It’s open,” Felicity calls. He nudges the door open with his foot, then walks over to the side of her bed, where she’s sitting up against the headboard.

“You didn’t have to bring it in here,” she says with a sniffle as he hands her the tray. She picks up a pancake with her hand and bites into it, completely disregarding the fork and knife next to the plate on the tray. “Thank you though.”

He nods. She’s done it for him, he’s just returning the favor.

He’s not sure whether he should stay or go, so he stands there for a moment. He’s never been in her room before.

It’s cozy, he supposes. It fits her. The walls are a soft lavender color, the desk, bookshelf and bed made of a dark oak. Her sheets match the walls, though they’re a bit darker, and she has a blue stuffed bear sitting next to her against the mound of pillows on her bed.

“You can sit down if you want,” she says once she sees him looking around.

He shakes his head.

“I’ll be outside,” he says. She nods, then he walks out the door.

He goes out to the stables, then gets right to work on the motorcycle. He’s spent too much time here, and he’s starting to feel things, and that’s confusing. He doesn’t like being confused.

He’s becoming used to the way things happen here, and that’s strange to him. He’s used to different things, change every time he wakes up, huge leaps in years between each time his eyes open.

Within a few hours, when he tries to turn the engine on, the bike starts up, smoke and dust spewing out of the tailpipe, and he smiles.

He walks back inside after shutting the engine off again, thinking that he can just pack up his things and leave.

But then he remembers that he promised Felicity a ride.

So he knocks on her door, and waits.

She doesn’t answer.

“Felicity?” he asks. When he still doesn’t hear anything, he pushes the door open.

She’s not there. The bed is empty, and there’s no sign of where she might be.

He turns around, and the bathroom is empty too.

Where is she?

“Felicity?” he calls.

“What?”

The answering shout comes from the basement, and she doesn’t sound happy.

He walks to the top of the steps, and as he gets closer, he hears an almost constant _thud thud thud_ sound.

“Felicity?” he calls again, just to make sure she’s down there.

“What?” she answers again, this time a little more calmly. “I’m in the basement, you can come down here.”

He slowly walks down the steps, looking around the dark room. Felicity is in the corner, facing a large bag hanging from the ceiling, tape on her hands and wrists.

“What do you want?” she asks, turning around.

She’s still wearing the huge sweatshirt, and the sweatpants. Her eyes are still red, and it looks like fresh tear tracks down her cheeks.

She’s been crying again.

“Do you um... “ he starts, then stops. “Are you alright?”

She frowns. He doesn’t usually ask about her.

She shakes her head. “Not yet,” she says. “I’ll get there.”

She gives him a watery smile, but he can see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Distraction. He needs a distraction.

“Movie?” he asks.

She blinks.

“Yeah. Movie. Good idea.” She nods. “I’ll be up in a minute, you can pick one?”

He nods.

Felicity nods, and then he turns to go back up the stairs.

He walks over to the cabinet of movies, and looks for one that might be happier than Felicity.

 **The Sword in the Stone** catches his eye first. That one was pretty happy when they watched it before. It’s her favorite.

He slides it into the DVD player just as Felicity plops down on the couch, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. He sits to her left, glancing over at her.

Her eyelashes are stuck together, and her eyes are still red, but she looks a little less pale than before. She’s let her hair down, and it’s quite a bit fluffier than usual, sticking up all over her head. She looks very soft.

“I don’t have the remote,” she mumbles as she looks over at him. She sniffles as he blinks, just realizing that he’s stared at her through the previews.

He grabs the remote off of the coffee table - it was literally right in front of Felicity, but he didn’t mention that - and presses the button with the faded triangle on it, starting the movie.

She stares at the screen, her eyes not quite focused on it, as the music plays and names go across the screen.

She’s never this quiet.

Even through the songs, she just sits there. He’s almost angry. She isn’t supposed to be this sad. This fucking movie is her favorite, why the fuck isn’t she singing? She always sings.

When it gets to the part where Merlin and Wart are fish, he’s practically seething while he sits on the couch. He feels like he has to do something.

_Left and right, like day and night, that’s makes the world go round._

_In and out, thin and stout, that’s what makes the world go round._

“For every up there is a down, for every square -” he starts.

“There is a round?” Felicity asks. She’s not looking at him, but her eyes look more like she’s there instead of stuck in her head.

“For every high -” he starts again, the corner of his mouth starting to tug upward.

“There is a low?” Felicity finishes. She sounds more interested, but she still won’t look at him.

“For every to, there is a-”

“fro.”

“Set your sights upon the heights, don’t be a mediocrity

Don’t just wait and trust to fate and say that’s how it’s meant to be.

It’s up to you how far you go, if you don’t try you’ll never know

And so my lad, as I’ve explained, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he continues, finishing the song along with Merlin.

This time she looks at him curiously.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” she says quietly.

He shrugs. She never asked.

One corner of her mouth moves up a little.

“ ‘S alright,” she says. “You’re pretty good.”

He looks away. No one’s told him he’s got a nice voice before.

She sniffles again, then runs the sleeve of her sweater across her nose.

“There’s literally tissues right there,” he says. Her head snaps over to him like she’s been slapped. Her eyes are wide as she looks at him. “I’m kidding,” he says, thinking he’s said something wrong. “But there are tissues right there,” he tells her as he points at the box sitting on the endtable next to Felicity.

She stares at him for a moment, even when he looks away, going back to the movie.

He’s careful when he does it again, waiting until the next movie.

This time it’s **Oliver and Company**.

_One minute I’m in Central Park, then I’m down on Delancey street._

_Said, from the Bow’ry to Saint Mark’s, there’s a syncopated beat._

He can tell that Felicity isn’t expecting it this time by the way she jumps.

“Why should I worry? Why should I care? I may not have a dime, but I got street savoir faire.”

She looks at him again as he keeps going, her eyes wide again.

This time she joins him, a smile on her face that gets bigger as they keep going.

“Why should I worry? Why should I care? It’s just a be-population. And I got street savoir faire.”

By the time the song ends, Felicity is grinning widely, giggling at his attempts to mimic her wild hand gestures.

They sing the other songs together, and each time Felicity smiles more.

When that movie ends, he grabs the next one off of the shelf, and they keep going.

After they’ve watched **The Little Mermaid** , **Beauty and the Beas** t, and **Tangled** , he puts in **Sleeping Beauty**.

When it reaches the part where Aurora is singing in the woods, Felicity grins at him before reaching over and tugging him off the couch.

He goes easily, happy and relaxed from the quiet afternoon they’ve had, letting her spin him around and hold his hands while she sings.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.”

She’s smiling again, and it makes him grin. Happy Felicity is contagious.

They spin around the room for the rest of the song, singing back and forth to each other as they do. He gets dizzy, but Felicity is laughing, and he _wants_ to hear her laugh, so he doesn’t tell her to stop.

When the song ends, they gradually slow down with the spinning, until they’re just standing there in the middle of the room. He thinks it’s going to be awkward, and is proven right when Felicity pauses, going completely still in front of him.

She blinks a few times, then sneezes, pulling her hand out of his flesh one to cover her mouth.

She giggles, looking up at him, her sleeve covering the bottom half of her face.

“Sorry,” she says, her eyes crinkling. The right side of his mouth pulls up into a grin.

“It’s alright,” he says.

They sit back down, and Felicity yawns, rubbing her eye with her fist as she wraps the blanket around herself.

She’s quiet again, but he doesn’t think too much of it, because there aren’t any songs for a bit.

He doesn’t notice that she’s fallen asleep until her head falls to the side, her cheek on his shoulder. He’s confused at first , not knowing what to do.

He shouldn’t wake her up, she probably didn’t sleep too well last night.

So he sits there, watching Prince Phillip slays the dragon while Felicity sleeps.

She's still holding his metal hand.

When Felicity wakes up a few hours later, he's hungry again. She suggests sandwiches, and he goes to get the stuff out of the fridge to make them, bringing all of it back and spreading it out on the coffee table.

“So how’s the bike coming?” Felicity asks once they’ve finished lunch .

"I got it running," he says absently, just now remembering why he came inside in the first place.

"That's cool," Felicity says. Her smile is genuine, he knows because it makes her eyes crinkle.

“Do you want to go for a ride later?” he asks.

“I didn’t mean you actually had to,” she says. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “I said I would.”

“Okay,” Felicity says. “I’ll go put some jeans on.”

She walks out of the room, leaving her plate on the coffee table, and goes into her room, closing the door. He puts the food back in the fridge, then stands at the door to wait for Felicity.

When she walks out of her room, she’s still wearing the huge sweater, which looks a bit strange now that she has jeans on.

“Don’t say anything about it,” she says as she walks past him, “I’m comfy.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t comment as they walk out to the stables.

Felicity waits outside while he rolls the bike out, then swings his leg over, sitting on the front part of the seat.

“Have you driven one of these before?” she asks as she climbs on behind him.

He nods. He knows he has, he just doesn’t remember when the last time was.

He steps on the pedal to start the bike, and Felicity clings to him once the engine catches.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting it,” she says as she loosens her grip.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Are you ready?”

He feels her nod against his shoulder, and then they’re off.

At first Felicity’s grip gets tighter, nearly to the point where he’s ready to pry her hands off, but then he feels her move, and then she’s laughing again.

“Which way?” he asks as he slows down for a stop sign.

“Left!” Felicity says, pointing down a stretch of dirt road. He looks both ways before turning, catching a glimpse of a car coming down the road to their right.

“Does the radio work?’ she asks excitedly, hooking her chin over his shoulder.

“Don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t get that far.”

She reaches in front of him, turning one of the knobs.

“Oops,” she giggles when the headlight comes on. “Not that one.”

He turns the knob for the radio, almost disappointed when he only gets static in response. Guess he’ll have to work on that. A radio will be important if he wants to stay hidden. He didn’t think of that before.

“Darn,” Felicity says. She doesn’t sound awfully disappointed though. She doesn’t move back, keeping her face right next to his.

“Your hair keeps going in my eye,” she mutters after a few minutes.

He doesn’t apologize, instead he takes a sharp turn to the left, spinning the bike around.

“Bucky!” Felicity squeals, her arms tightening around him like a vice. She giggles, then asks, “what the heck was that?”

“It’s getting dark,” he says, pointing up at the sky. The sun’s gone down quite a bit since they started out. He doesn’t mention the gut feeling that’s been creeping up on him for the last few minutes, like something’s wrong.

“Well, you could’ve warned me,” she says.

“Didn’t think about it,” he answers.

“Really? Not even ‘hey, I think I’m gonna turn around now, you might wanna hang on’?”

“Nope,” he says with a grin.

He feels her fist nudge his shoulder.

“You big goof,” she laughs.

They shout back and forth at each other a few times on the way back, and he may or may not swerve to the side a couple times just to mess with her.

It’s been a while since he’s had this much fun.

But that quickly ends when they pull into the driveway.

There’s another car parked next to Eunice.

He tenses, swerving toward the stables before he stops.

“No, not _now_ ,” Felicity groans.

“Do you know who that is?” he asks.

“It’s my parents,” she groans. “I told her to _call_ first. She always does this.”

“Does what?” he asks as he rolls over to the door of the stables. Felicity hops off when he kills the engine, walking with him as he rolls it back inside.

“Always shows up when I’m not prepared. She claims she wants to surprise me, but it would be nice if she let me know a few hours in advance,” Felicity explains.

He parks the bike, and then they walk up to the house.

“Just a warning, my mom doesn’t know when to stop talking, so I’m sorry in advance,” Felicity says before she opens the door.

“There you are!” a nasally voice calls. “I thought you were dead or something.”

“No mom, just not in the house,” Felicity says as she walks inside. He follows her, but he can’t see anyone else in the house. “I didn’t know you were coming, or I would’ve -”

“Cleaned? Darling, we both know that’s not your strong suit,” the voice says, and then a short woman walks out of the hallway. “Oh,” she says when she spots him standing behind Felicity. He tenses, his hand starting toward where he’s got a knife tucked into his belt. “Who’s _this_?”

Felicity sighs. “This is Bucky. He works here. He’s staying in the guest room.”

“Where are _you_ staying?” her mother asks.

“In _my_ room, like a normal person,” Felicity answers.

Her mother huffs. “Well, where will _we_ stay?”

“What do you mean?” Felicity asks.

“We’re staying the night,” her mother answers, “You wouldn’t want your parents to have to pay for some hotel room, would you?”

He can see Felicity’s hand twitch.

“No, not at all,” she replies. “Um… I guess you can stay in my room?” she suggests. “I’ll go on the couch.”

Her mother looks disappointed, but she agrees to it.

“Did you eat yet?” Felicity asks.

“Oh, heavens no!” her mother answers. “You know how my stomach is with fast food. No, we thought we’d get something home-cooked.”

Felicity smiles tightly.

“Alright, I’ll get started on something then,” she says shortly. She turns to him. “Do you want to help?”

Her eyes say please, but the rest of her face says that it’s up to him.

He nods. He’d rather not be left alone with her mother.

He doesn’t even know the woman’s name, and he already wants her gone. Felicity doesn’t like her, that’s enough reason for him.

“Okay.” She turns back to her mother. “Did you move all your stuff in already?”

“Oh no dear. We wanted to be sure you were home before we moved everything. You know how your father’s back is,” she answers.

Felicity nods. “Okay. Where is dad?”

“I’m not sure.”

Suddenly he gets a bad feeling in his stomach, like something’s about to go wrong. He’s got a good idea of where her dad is.

“Excuse me,” he tells Felicity, then walks down the hall to the guest room.

There’s someone in there. With his stuff.

He clears his throat as he stands in the doorway, and the man turns around.

“Who are you?” the man asks. He looks enough like Felicity that he could pass for her father.

“Who are _you_?” he asks, turning the question around.

“I’m Felicity’s father. Who are you, sonny?”

“Dad, there you are,” Felicity says as she walks to stand next to him. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I thought I’d have some shuteye before supper, but it seems like someone’s moved into my room,” the man answers, motioning toward him. “Did you finally get yourself a boyfriend?”

Felicity stiffens.

“ _No_ dad. Bucky works here, so I’m letting him stay here,” she says, shaking her head. She walks over, taking him by the arm and gently pulling him out into the hall. “You and mom are gonna stay in _my_ room,” she says. She looks over her shoulder as they walk down the hall, mouthing a ‘sorry’ back at him.

He nods, then walks into the room, checking all the places where he’s stashed his weapons, making sure that all of them are there, moving some around until he’s satisfied that no one will find them.

Then he goes out to the kitchen to help Felicity.

“I’m just saying that we aren’t getting any younger, darling, and it would be nice to have some grandkids before we go,” Felicity’s mother is saying.

“Mom, I understand,” Felicity answers. He rounds the corner and sees her at the stove, three skillets in front of her all full of vegetables. “I don’t want to just settle for -” she glances up and sees him. “There you are,” she says. “Can you um..”

He nods, walking over to the stove and picking up a spoon to stir the contents of two of the skillets.

“Thank you.”

“Felicity, I don’t see where you’d be doing any _settling_ except settling _down_ ,” her mother says.

Felicity sighs. “Whatever you say, mom.”

“I don’t see where you would have any problems finding a nice young man with a good job,” her mother continues. “I mean, if you dressed a little nicer and spent less time in that stable.”

“That stable is my job, mom,” Felicity answers. “And it happens to be somewhere that I enjoy being.”

“It can’t possibly make enough money for you to take care of everything, darling. I mean, look at that couch. It’s filthy.”

“Just because it’s brown doesn’t mean that it’s always dirty,” Felicity says. “I vacuumed it two days ago.”

“That’s not my point,” her mother says.

He keeps stirring as her mother continues telling Felicity that if she just tried a little harder, she could find someone to take care of her. Not someone to make her happy, but someone to take care of her.

He can tell by the way Felicity stiffens, then huffs whenever her mother says the phrase that she’s not looking for someone to just take care of her. She seems plenty capable of taking care of herself. She’s been just fine while he’s been here, and he assumes that it was the same before.

“And with your leg, you shouldn’t be on your feet all day like that,” her mother says.

Felicity turns around, looking at her mother for the first time since he walked in.

“Mother, my leg is _fine_ , I am doing _fine_ taking care of _myself_ ,” she says exasperatedly, as if she’s tired of having this argument. “I don’t need someone else to do it for me.”

Her mother huffs.

“I’m going to go wake your father up,” she says. She stands and walks out of the room.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Felicity collapses into a chair.

He looks at her as he puts the vegetables into a bowl, then carries it over to the table along with the tortillas.

“Sorry you had to hear all that,” Felicity apologizes as he sits down in the chair next to her. “She doesn’t know when to stop.”

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. It really isn’t. No one should talk to someone the way that her mother talks to her.

Felicity looks like she’s going to say something else, but then her parents walk in, and then it’s back to a tense air, and it stays that way all through supper, even until everyone is getting around for bed.

“Can I brush my teeth?” Felicity asks after knocking on the door of the bathroom.

“Yeah,” he answers. He’s just shaving, it’s alright to have another person in the bathroom.

“Thank you,” she says, stumbling in. She looks worn out, like she’s seconds away from falling asleep. She picks up her toothbrush, then blindly reaches for the toothpaste as she rubs her eye with her fist.

He grins in amusement, then slides the tube over toward her.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

After he rinses his face off, he reaches for a towel, then walks across the hall to the guest room.

“Night,” he calls.

“Goodnight,” Felicity answers.

He closes the door, just in case Felicity’s parents decide to take a walk in the middle of the night, and then tosses the towel onto the nightstand before he crawls into bed.

He sees the light go off through the crack under the door, and then he hears Felicity walk down the hall.

After about ten minutes of tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable way to lay, he hears a knock on the door.

“Bucky?” Felicity whispers. “Are you awake?”

He walks over to the door, pulling it open.

“I can’t sleep,” she says. “The couch isn’t long enough.” She looks down at her feet, which are hidden inside her slippers. He didn’t notice how they had horses on them before. “Can I um… sleep in here?”

He blinks.

“Yeah,” he says before he can think about it. “Sure.”

“Thank you,” she says gratefully, and then she’s walking past him and flopping down on the right side of the bed. “You won’t even know I’m here,” she says as she burrows under the blankets, curling herself into a ball.

“This means I get extra syrup in the morning, right?” he asks with a small smile as he closes the door and walks over to the left side of the bed.

“Sure. Whatever you want,” she replies, already half asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When he wakes up, Felicity is gone, but the spot where she was is still a little warm.

He hears voices in the hallway, talking quietly, but neither one is Felicity.

“I don’t trust him, there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t sit well with me.”

That’s obviously Felicity’s mother. They’re talking about him.

“Felicity trusts him.”

“Well, I don’t. What sort of man just moves in with a girl who’s all alone like she is?”

“Someone that needed a job and a place to live, and Felicity was kind to give him both.”

“Don’t you think that’s -”

“Normal, Janet. It’s completely normal. Nothing is going wrong, Felicity is fine. She said it herself. Let’s go eat.”

He hears them walk down the hall, then rolls over, pushing the blankets off.

So her mother’s name is Janet. Interesting.

And she doesn’t like him. Well, the feeling is mutual. He doesn’t like the way she treats Felicity.

Or the way she sounds when she talks, it hurts his head. Felicity’s voice sounds much better.

He pulls on some clean clothes, then walks out to the kitchen.

Felicity’s made pancakes, like she usually does, and she hands him a plate when he walks over to where she’s standing at the stove.

“Everything’s on the counter,” she tells him. “I’m gonna eat in my room.” She looks down. “You know, if you wanna join me.”

He thinks about it, then nods. He’d rather eat with Felicity than be alone with her parents. Especially if they don’t trust him. He doesn’t feel like they’d want him around anyway.

So after he piles his plate with pancakes and grabs the syrup, he follows Felicity down the hall to her room.

“You wanna watch a movie?” she asks as she crawls onto her bed. “I just got The Lone Ranger on my google account.”

“Which one?” he asks. From what he’s heard her say, there have been at least six or so movies, and a few TV series about the masked man.

“The new one with Johnny Depp,” Felicity says. “You can sit up here if you want, I don’t bite.”

She scoots over so that she’s on the right side of the bed, then pats the open spot to her left.

“Are you sure?” he asks as he walks around the sit next to her.

“Pretty sure. I’ve got food, so…” she shrugs. “But all bets are off if you get syrup on my favorite blanket.”

“I’ll try not to,” he says with a smile as she pulls her laptop onto the mattress between them. She pulls up the movie in between bites, then leans back against the headboard once the film starts.

Before long, both of their plates are empty, and set on Felicity’s nightstand as they watch the movie.

Felicity’s moved as well, she’s closer than she was at first, clutching a pillow to her chest as she stares intently at the screen. He can feel the warmth from her body through his shirt.

Her head slowly tilts toward him as the movie goes on, and soon it rests on his shoulder. He doesn’t think it’s strange that he doesn’t mind. Felicity touching him is alright. He’s used to her.

It bothers him more that he’s used to her than her leaning on him does. If he’s been here long enough to get used to her, that means he’s lost time that could have been used to get farther away from D.C.

But he’s been safe here so far, which is good. No one has found him, he’s well hidden here.

Off the grid. Felicity’s said that before when she’s talked about her home.

It is nice. No strange smells, nothing that looks dangerous or threatening. Nothing to make him think that he needs to defend himself from Felicity.

He knows he can. She’s not big enough to be much trouble, and that’s oddly comforting to him. He knows he can take her down, even though he most likely won’t have to. She hasn’t done anything that’s threatened him in the slightest. She’s been very friendly, and treats him like a normal human being. That’s not something he’s used to.

She doesn’t tell him what to do or what not to do. It’s always ‘if you want to.’ He appreciates that. She’s not making him do anything. She doesn’t press for answers when she asks a question, she always waits for him to answer, and doesn’t get frustrated or angry if he doesn’t.

She doesn’t question what he does. She didn’t think it was strange when he asked her to pay him in cash instead of a check. She doesn’t ask him about himself, other than what he wants to eat or what movie he wants to watch. That’s probably a good thing, because he doesn’t know everything about himself at the moment. He’s getting there, but it might take a while.

He’s kind of hit a standstill, and that’s frustrating. He’s not sure what else to do that would help him remember anything, or where he could go. He’s not going to talk to anyone about it, but he’d maybe like a little help.

Felicity sneezes, breaking him out of his thoughts, and then she’s moving away, taking some warmth from his shoulder.

“Welp, that was fun,” she says, stretching.

He didn’t notice that the movie was over. He’d been stuck in his head.

He nods, even though she’s not looking at him. It was alright.

Felicity jumps when there’s a knock at the door.

“Felicity!” her mother calls. “Are you in there?”

Felicity groans. “Yeah, why?”

“We’re going out for lunch. You need to get ready.”

Felicity doesn’t answer, but her mother walks away, her feet loud in the hallway.

“Now I have to put on pants,” Felicity groans, flopping back onto the pillows.

He frowns. She is wearing pants. “But -”

“Like, actual pants,” she says. “Jeans or something. She probably wants me to dress up.”

“Oh.”

Felicity nods. “Yep.”

“I’ll um,” he motions toward the door. Felicity nods.

“Okay. You do that,” she says as he stands, walking over to the door.

About halfway there, he stops and turns around.

“Thank you,” he says. Felicity looks up from where she’s rummaging through her dresser.

“You’re welcome,” she replies with a smile. “Anytime.”

“Okay,” he says. He reaches back for the doorknob, not remembering that it’s a few feet behind him.

Felicity giggles when he looks back and realizes that the door isn’t right there like he thought it was.

He turns back to her, glaring a little, but she keeps giggling, like she knows he doesn’t mean it.

“You think that’s funny?” he asks, walking back over to her. She snorts, then laughs loudly. “What’s so funny?” he asks, grinning when she can’t calm down enough to answer.

“I don’t even know,” she laughs.

“Felicity! Are you still in there?” her mother’s voice calls through the door. The laughing immediately stops, and Felicity’s eyes get wide.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Felicity answers.

“Well, don’t take forever.”

”Okay,” Felicity says, and he hears her mother walk away down the hall. Felicity looks at him, then at the door. “You should probably go now,” she says. “Like, before she comes back. Cause she’ll be back in about five minutes.”

“Five exactly?” he asks, going back to the door.

Felicity nods. “I can set my watch by her,” she says. “When she makes plans, she keeps them. To the second.”

He nods. “Do you think I’m invited to lunch?” he asks once he thinks of it.

Felicity shrugs. “Do you want to go? It’s probably gonna be some fancy restaurant.”

He shrugs. “There’s food.”

“Well then, consider yourself invited,” Felicity says. “But I need to put clothes on, so you should go.”

“Oh, right.” He reaches for the doorknob, this time opening the door and walking out. He pulls the door shut behind himself, then goes down the hall to the guest room.

He’s been leaving the door shut, not wanting Felicity’s father to walk in by accident, and so far it’s worked. He hasn’t had any unexpected visitors.

About five or so minutes later, he hears Felicity’s mother walk back down the hallway, just like Felicity said she would.

“Are you finished yet?” she shouts through the door, just before he hears it open.

“Yes, mom, I’m done,” Felicity says. “Where are we going?”

“That steakhouse in town.”

“What steakhouse? There isn’t one in -”

“Not in Marshall,” her mother interrupts.

“Alright,” Felicity says.

“You should wear that -”

“I’m not wearing a skirt,” Felicity says. “You know I won’t do that.”

“Darling, you would look so nice in a skirt,” her mother says.

“No one would look at my face,” Felicity says. He doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s not happy, her tone says it all. “I will not wear a skirt.”

“Fine then. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Fine.”

He hears footsteps go down the hallway, and then he hears a sigh.

“Bucky?” Felicity asks, knocking on the door.

“What?” he asks as he opens the door.

“Are you sure you wanna go?” she asks quietly. “Mom’s gonna be irritating.”

“She can’t hurt me,” he says, straightening his shoulders.

Felicity smiles. “No, she probably can’t,” she admits. “Do you have a shirt with a collar?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Okay. Um… just wear a nice shirt, please?” she tells him, sounding unsure.

“What color?” he asks.

Felicity shrugs. “Whatever you want. I’m gonna wear green, ‘cause mom hates it.”

He nods. Green is a nice color.

Felicity nods.

“Well, I have to go change. Then I’m gonna fix my hair. So if you need to use the bathroom, I advise you to do it now, because my hair is gonna take forever to do.”

“What do you do?” he asks. She’s never done anything besides a ponytail or a braid.

“Well, mom insists that it has to be fancy,” Felicity says, like it’s some sort of secret. “So I’m gonna curl it and hope I don’t burn my fingers off.”

He frowns. Why would she burn her fingers off?

“So, before my mom comes back and start yelling again, I’m gonna go get ready.”

She turns, going into her room, and he shuts the door again.

Nice shirt. That just means a _clean_ shirt, right?

He walks over to the closet, pulling out a dark green shirt with long sleeves. All of his shirts have long sleeves.

After he switches shirts, he hears someone in the bathroom. Judging by the sound of something being dropped, he guesses that it’s Felicity.

He’s not wrong.

He opens the door, furrowing his eyebrows when he sees her with her face inches from the mirror, poking her face with her finger.

She’s got her hair up in what looks like huge rollers, and she’s changed her clothes. Now she’s wearing tight black jeans and a sparkly green sweater that’s loose fitting, but still looks sort of formal.

“What are you doing?” he asks, making her jump.

“Ow!” she says, rubbing her cheek.

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine. What did you say?” she asks, turning back to the mirror.

“What are you doing?” he repeats.

“Concealer,” she answers. She backs away, looking at her reflection. She nods, then picks up a tube looking container from the counter next to the sink. She squeezes a little bit of whatever is in it onto her finger, then starts rubbing it onto her face.

“I hate this stuff,” she mutters.

“Then why are you doing it?” he asks. It makes no sense to willingly do something that she hates doing.

“Because mother says I look better like this,” she says, rinsing her hands off. “And I wouldn’t want to disappoint her when she’s taking me out for lunch.”

She picks up a brush and swirls it around in something before brushing it over her face.

“You look nice,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says, looking down at his boots. He should wipe them off.

He leans on the door frame of the bathroom and stays there as Felicity puts her makeup on.

He’s ninety nine percent sure that he hasn’t seen even half the things she put on her face before in his entire life.

Then she takes the rollers out of her hair, and he’s not sure _what_ exactly she does after that, but her hair is definitely different from usual.

She takes one last look at herself, nods, then turns to him.

“How’s it look?” she asks.

“Your freckles are gone,” he tells her. Her eyes look strange, rimmed in black like they are.

“Is that weird?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

He furrows his eyebrows, then shakes his head. “Just different.” She almost looks like a different person, the way she’s put the different powders on her face. She looks thinner, like she needs to eat something.

If he hadn’t already decided to give up on trying to understand women, he’d be confused right now.

“Felicity, are you done yet?” her mother asks, clicking down the hall in heels.

“Yeah,” Felicity tells her. “Is this alright?”

Her mother looks her up and down, a frown on her face.

“Didn’t you wear that sweater last year?” Felicity nods.

“I _washed_ it though, so I can wear it again,” she replies.

Her mother scoffs. “Your father is in the car,” she says, and then she walks away, out the door.

“Well then,” Felicity says. “I suppose we should get going.”

She grabs her phone, keys, and wallet off of the counter as they pass the kitchen, shoving them into her pockets.

“I don’t see why I need new sweaters all the time,” she mutters. “They can be worn more than once, that’s the point of a washing machine.”

She grabs her jacket off of it’s hook, and he does the same before they walk out the door.

“You know, if you want, you could drive your bike up there and fill up the gas tank,” she says as they walk down the front steps. “It would save you a trip later.”

He nods. “I’ll do that.”

She nods. “Okay. See you there then.”

He walks to the stables, then pulls the bike out, starting it once it’s outside. He follows the car as it pulls out of the driveway, then onto the road.

Felicity’s father is not a good driver.

They must have taken the wrong way, because they turned around, and then he made the same wrong turn again.

And again.

The fourth time Felicity’s father didn’t take the turn, going straight through the light instead, and then proceeded to drive slow enough that he could have killed the bike’s engine and walked.

They go onto the highway, and he’s grateful that it’s a straight stretch of road for the next half hour, because that means that there’s a very small chance that they’ll have to turn around.

When they reach the restaurant, his stomach has been growling for about twenty or so minutes, and he’s about ready to chew his arm off.

He parks next to Felicity’s parents, and Felicity walks over to him after she gets out of the car.

“Can I ride back with you?” she asks quietly as they fall in behind her parents on the way inside.

He nods. She looks a little green, and not just on her sweater.

“Are you alright?’ he asks. Felicity nods.

“Yeah, just a little carsick. I can’t stand not having the windows open,” she tells him, leaning a little closer so that her parents won’t hear.

By now they’re at the doors, and when they walk inside, the noise that he expects isn’t there.

It’s almost quiet, besides a few laughing people at the bar.

This is alright. He was prepared for a loud diner, but this is nice. Kind of ritzy.

It looks secure, nothing catches his eye that looks threatening. 

“Hello, would you like a booth or a table?” the girl at the front asks.

“Table,” Felicity says at the same time her mother says “booth.”

They look at each other, both frowning,

“Booth,” Felicity gives in, crossing her arms.

The girl nods, then grabs four menus.

“Alright, please follow me,” she says with a smile.

She leads them through the tables, to a corner booth.

Felicity’s hair bounces as she walks in front of him, then slides into the booth across from her mother. He sits next to Felicity, on her right.

After a bit, a waiter walks over.

“Hello, my name is Justin and I’ll be your server for today,” he says.

They order drinks, and then the waiter leaves, and Felicity’s mother looks at her expectantly.

He pretends to be interested in the menu in front of him.

Felicity sighs. “ _No_ mom.”

“Honestly Felicity, it’s like you’re waiting for Captain America or something.”

His metal hand twitches.

Felicity shrugs, playing with her napkin. “Captain America wouldn’t be so bad.”

Her mother sighs, then seems to drop the conversation, picking up her menu.

Felicity picks up her menu, standing it up on the table. She leans over toward him as her mother starts talking to her father.

“You wanna split something?” she asks. “This is all really expensive.”

He glances at the prices of some of the things on the menu.

“Sure. Sharing sounds good.” He’s not paying twenty dollars for a salad, that’s bonkers.

“Cool. What do you want?” she asks, sliding her menu over to meet his, making a wall between them and her parents. “I was thinking chicken fingers.”

He shrugs. He hadn’t really thought about it. Chicken sounds good.

“They come with fries,” Felicity adds. “I won’t steal yours, promise.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Alright.”

She nods. “Sweet.”

Then it’s quiet for a while, until the waiter comes back with a spinach and artichoke dip that he sets in the middle of the table, and to take their orders.

Felicity’s mother orders a salad, which is a bit confusing, considering that she could have eaten one at Felicity’s house just as well as here.

When Felicity orders for both of them, her mother makes a face.

“Chicken fingers?” she asks once the waiter takes their menus and walks away. “Couldn’t you have gotten something different? You can eat those at home.”

“Could have eaten a salad at home too,” Felicity counters, dipping a chip into the bowl in the middle. “Besides, it’s for science,” she adds as she bites off the corner with dip on it.

“Science?” her mother asks. “How is that -”

“I wanna see if they taste different from the ones in my freezer,” Felicity says with a snarky smile.

Her mother frowns.

“They’re playing that boyband you like,” Felicity’s mother says after the food arrives.

“The youngest one is twenty mom, they’re a _man_ -band now,” Felicity sasses, grabbing a piece of chicken from the plate in between them and dipping it into the cup of sauce.

He furrows his eyebrows at her, curious.

“One Direction,” she explains, as if that makes any sense. He nods, but makes a note to ask about it later, maybe when Felicity’s parents are gone.

“A bunch of little boys,” her mother says.

“The oldest one is the same age as me, mom,” Felicity points out.

Her mother huffs, then excuses herself to the bathroom.

Felicity keeps a straight face until she’s gone, but as soon as her mother is out of sight, she starts giggling.

“What’s so funny?” her father asks.

“I don’t know!” Felicity answers, still giggling. She puts her hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the sound.

He feels his mouth turn up in a grin as he watches her curiously. He doesn’t understand why she’s laughing the way she is, but she’s happy. And happy is a good thing.

When they leave - less than full - Felicity’s mother isn’t happy that her daughter isn’t going to ride in the car with them, but Felicity doesn’t leave any room to argue, climbing on behind him as he starts the bike.

He follows her father to the edge of Marshall, then pulls into the gas station while her parents keep going down the road.

“Do you want a sandwich?” Felicity asks as he pulls up to one of the pumps and kills the engine.

He nods. “Yes please.”

“Okay. I’m going inside,” she says, nodding toward the small convenience store. He nods.

“I’ll be out here.”

Felicity smiles, then walks inside.

He watches her until she disappears through the door, then turns to the gas pump.

These are different. Lots of buttons.

He notices the screen with directions, and silently thanks whoever invented it.

After he’s filled the tank, he walks inside to pay. Felicity still hasn’t come back out, and he’s starting to wonder what she’s up to.

He doesn’t see her right away when he walks through the door. He doesn’t see her when he walks up to the counter.

He does hear her.

“Get off me!”

His metal hand twitches, and he looks around, listening and searching for where she is as he walks toward the back of the store.

Just as he’s about to turn a corner around a row of shelves, a body comes stumbling out past him, running into the wall.

It’s not Felicity.

“Goddamn bitch,” the man says, spitting blood onto the floor. Felicity must have hit him.

“Oh, _I’m_ the bitch?” Felicity says, angrily walking toward the man. “Just because I won't - ?" She stops, seething. "I should report you to the police!”

The man lunges forward, but he grabs the man’s arm with his metal hand, holding the man back.

“Leave her alone,” he snarls when the man looks up at him.

“Yeah, what he said,” Felicity sasses, walking over to stand by him. “I had it covered,” she mutters.

He rolls his eyes, then lets go of the man’s arm, who stumbles away from him, going back to the front counter.

“Are you alright?” he asks Felicity, looking her over for injuries. She looks fine, the only thing that’s different is that the black around her left eye is a bit smudged. “What happened?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now,” Felicity says, crossing her arms.

“Are you alright though?” he repeats.

Felicity nods. “Yeah, just mad. I didn’t get a sandwich,” she tells him.

He shakes his head with a smile. “That’s okay.”

Felicity shrugs. “I suppose we can make some at home.”

“That would have saved a lot of trouble if you thought of that earlier,” he says as they walk up to the counter so he can pay for the fuel.

“I was hungry!” Felicity laughs.

He pays for the fuel, and Felicity growls at the man as they walk away.

“Come on,” he says, taking Felicity’s hand and pulling her through the door.

She giggles once they’re outside.

“What’s funny?” he asks. She’s very giggly today.

She starts dancing as she walks.

“Can’t touch this,” she sings.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a laugh.

“Nope. Still angry,” she says, forcing her face into a frown. It’s not very convincing though, because she keeps giggling.

They go back to Felicity’s house, and even though her mother starts giving Felicity the third degree when she walks in the door - because they took over an hour to come back, and what if they had needed something, or there was an emergency, because her mother knows that Felicity didn’t have her phone with her (because it was in the car with them), and how was she supposed to get ahold of her - Felicity doesn’t lose her smile.

The rest of the day seems to go by fairly quickly, both he and Felicity go out to the stable after they’ve eaten their sandwiches, and she helps him muck out the stalls - even though he said he could do it himself, he’s the one getting paid, after all - and after that, they go back into Felicity’s room and watch a few more Disney movies.

The last one for the night is **Enchanted** , and Felicity’s off pitch singing makes him laugh, then join in, because the ‘ _how does she know_ ’ song repeats so many times that he’s pretty sure he knows the words by the second verse.

That leads to more giggling from Felicity, which makes him laugh, and soon her mother is telling them to be quiet, because they’re being too loud.

“She’s just grumpy,” Felicity says, still giggling into her hand. “She’s not the one having fun.”

She glances over at the clock on her nightstand.

“But we should probably go to bed. It’s after ten.”

He stand from the bed, stretching his arms over his head.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I um… Can I stay with you again?” Felicity asks quietly.

He nods. “Yeah.” It wasn’t so bad last night, it can’t hurt to let her stay with him another night.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “The couch isn’t quite comfy enough to sleep on.”

“It’s not a problem.”

The next morning, the first thing he hears is yelling.

“Mom, I said no!” Felicity’s voice echoes through the house.

“Matthew is not creepy, he’s just friendly. I honestly don’t know why you don’t like him, he has a nice job, he can -”

“I don’t want to be taken care of!” Felicity says, her voice cracking.

He rolls over, pulling a pillow over his head. It makes him sick hearing her mother push Felicity to the point that she’s close to crying. He doesn’t like it.

The yelling doesn’t stop, not until he hears footsteps in the hall, and then a door slams.

“We are not finished with this discussion, young lady!” her mother screams.

“ _I am_!” Felicity shouts. She must be in the bathroom, judging from where her voice sounds like it’s coming from.

Her mother huffs, then there’s stomping feet going away down the hall, and then it’s quiet again.

He rolls over again, trying to find a comfy spot so that he can go back to sleep. It’s still early, the sun isn’t quite up yet. And it’s Sunday, so Felicity won’t need him in the stables until tomorrow.

He turns his face into one of the pillows, breathing deeply once he catches the smell of vanilla.

He decides that he likes vanilla.

The next time he opens his eyes, the sun is peeking through the shades in the window, shining on his face. It’s still quiet.

He rubs his eyes, then stands, walking over to the door, his eyes half closed. He’s still a little sleepy, but it’s time to get up.

He crosses the hallway, then knocks on the bathroom door before running his hand through his hair.

No one answers, so he turns the knob, walking inside.

He reaches for his toothbrush, and his hand is almost around it when he hears a gasp.

He freezes, and his head turns, and there’s Felicity, a towel barely covering her body, hair dripping wet.

But that isn’t what catches his attention.

He’s looking a little lower. Well, a _lot_ lower. He’s looking at her right foot.

Or, where it _should_ be.

But there’s nothing there. Her leg just stops about halfway down her calf.

“What are you doing?” she asks, pulling the towel tighter around herself.

He doesn’t answer, still stuck on her leg. Everything suddenly makes sense now. The strange clicking when she walks, her limp, the way she always wears something to cover her feet.

“Bucky,” she says, her voice cracking. “My face is up here.”

His eyes snap to hers, immediately noticing the tears welling up in them.

He shakes his head slightly.

_No, don’t cry_ , he wants to say. _Don’t cry, I don’t know what to do_.

He kicks the door shut, then steps closer to her, stopping when he’s right in front of her. She follows him with her strange eyes as she blinks quickly.

He just looks at her for a moment, debating if what he’s thinking is the best idea.

She won’t tell, she has no reason to.

He trusts her.

She watches as he reaches behind his head, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging it over his head before dropping it to the floor.

When he looks at her again, her eyes are wide, the opposite of what he was hoping for.

She’s scared.

He slowly raises his metal hand, and she blinks when it touches her face. Her eyes look up into his, still wide and terrified, but she manages a small smile.

He smiles back, his thumb sliding over her cheek as a tear falls from her eye.

She moves - whether she meant to move closer or farther away, he doesn’t know - but she stumbles without another foot to stand on.

He catches her, wrapping his flesh arm around her waist to hold her up, careful to keep the towel between his arm and her back. She smells like vanilla.

“Are you scared?” he asks. Her face is very close. He can count her eyelashes.

She shakes her head, but he’s not sure if she’s telling the truth.

“Uh uh. Not scared,” she says, looking at his mangled shoulder.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures her. He needs her to know that.

She nods. “I know you won’t,” she says, looking him in the eye. She blinks up at him, then turns her attention back to his arm. “How did I not see that before?” she asks quietly.

Her hand comes up, almost touching the metal, but then she pauses, glancing up at him, silently asking.

He nods, and she places her hand on his metal wrist, wrapping her fingers around it.

“Can you feel that?” she asks. He nods again. Her hand is warm.

She traces the lines and joints, both of them watching her fingers, until she reaches where the arm connects to his shoulder.

“Did it hurt?” she asks as she gently traces the scar tissue.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, watching her eyes. They aren’t as wide as before, more curious than scared now.

She presses her palm to his chest, right above his heart.

“You know, as much fun as this is, I’m still naked,” she says quietly. “And my parents are somewhere out there.”

“Oh,” he says, reluctantly stepping back and letting go.

“We can talk later, right?” she asks, setting a hand on the counter to steady herself. He nods, then reaches for the door handle. “Um, do you want your shirt?” she asks.

That would probably be a good idea. He doesn’t think her parents would react the same way to a metal arm. He crosses the small room, picking his shirt up off the floor next to Felicity’s foot, then pulls it back over his head, then goes back to the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Later turns into that evening, after Felicity’s parents finally leave. They pop some popcorn, and Felicity puts in another movie, sitting on his left side.

She’s fidgety, not really watching the movie. He knows she likes the main actor - what was his name… Fess Parker? - so she should be watching a little more intently than she is. 

But she’s not. He can feel her glancing at him, even though she doesn’t say anything. She’s waiting on him to talk first.

He’s busy trying to think of a way to tell her that he doesn’t know who he really is, or everything that’s happened to him, but he can’t come up with a good way to start it that doesn’t seem like something that a murderer would say.

‘You can’t tell anyone about this, because I don’t know who’s who anymore.’

‘There may be people after me for this, so you might get stuck in the crossfire if I tell you everything.’

‘I don’t know everything, but I remember being tortured, and before that there was this blonde fella named Steve, and I’m pretty sure that we were friends, at least that’s what he told me before I let him fall off of a helicarrier.’

He  _ wants  _ to tell her, but everything he thinks of sounds like something he shouldn’t say, so he doesn’t say anything. 

And Felicity doesn’t push for anything. 

He still hasn’t said anything when Felicity shuts off the TV and they go to bed.

“I’ll stay in my own room tonight,” she says jokingly. He nods with a half smile. 

 

The next day Felicity makes pancakes, and things go back to the way they were, and stay that way for a few more weeks.

Until one morning Felicity knocks on his door, asking for laundry that he wants her to wash.

He brings her the basket and doesn’t notice it until she’s walking away.

She’s wearing shorts. He can see her legs. 

Well, leg and a half. And then some. 

The prosthetic doesn’t look strange, he thinks. It fits Felicity. Simple, not over the top. A flesh colored sort of sleeve that fits up over her knee, and a purple rod that goes down into her slipper. He’s sure there’s another part to it, but he can’t see anything else.

He almost stops her, but judging by the way she’s walking quickly, she probably doesn’t want to talk about it. So he watches until she turns a corner, going down into the basement, and then he goes back inside the guest room, sitting on the bed. 

When he goes into the kitchen a few minutes later for breakfast, she’s still wearing the shorts, but he doesn’t say anything about it. She doesn’t either.

Things are still the same. She still talks to him about different things that are going on that day, and he answers when she asks questions, and asks questions of his own. 

The day goes normally from there. And the next. No changes, everything is the same. 

 

Four weeks and two days after her parents leave, around two in the afternoon, when he’s inside attempting to figure out the TV, Felicity comes running inside. 

“Bucky! Come quick! You gotta see this!” she tells him hurriedly, pulling him off of the couch, throwing his jacket at him as she drags him out the door. 

At first he mistakes her excitement for fear, and asks, 

“What’s wrong?”

She looks back at him, shaking her head as she tugs on his metal arm, not saying anything about how cold it must feel now that they’re outside in the chilly autumn air. 

“Nothing bad, promise,” she says with a bright smile. 

“Then what is it?” he asks as they reach the stables. She doesn’t answer, just pulls him inside, and over to the corner where the hay bales are stacked.

“Kittens!” she squeals, picking one up to show him. Oh. 

The little kitten mews loudly, starting to squirm, and Felicity pulls it close, wrapping it up in her arms as she starts talking to it. 

“No silly, hold still. You’re okay, I’ve got you,” she coos, rubbing behind it’s ear with her finger. “There’s at least seven,” she tells him. “And they’re all different colors, and they’re sooo cute!”

She sits down on one of the hay bales, and pulls another kitten up from between the bales, sitting it in her lap.

She looks up at him, then pats the bale next to her, inviting him to sit down. He settles down next to her, and before he can blink, he’s got a lapful of kittens, mewing up at him, trying to climb his arms.

There’s a red one, a grey one, two striped ones, and two black kittens. Felicity has most of them, and she’s got them playing with the end of her hair as she swings the braid back and forth over them.

She’s giggling, and it distracts him from the small claws digging into his flesh hand as the red kitten tries to climb up his arm.

“You aren’t going to kill them, just be careful not to squish them too tight,” she says once she looks over at him and sees him just sitting there. “You can pet them and stuff.”

He nods, and after she goes back to giggling at the kittens in her lap, he looks at the red kitten. It looks like it’s glaring at him. 

After a few moments of glaring back, the kitten mews, then paws at his arm.

He sort of pushes it away, trying his best not to hurt it. The kitten growls, then runs back, latching onto his hand. 

It hurts, but nothing close to what he’s experienced before, so he lets the kitten continue to bite at his fingers. 

Felicity’s smile when she sees it is worth it.

After a few hours of playing with the kittens, Felicity stretches out on her stomach across the hay bales, the kittens crawling on top of her and curling up, purring loudly. 

“What do you think we should name them?” she asks as the grey one paws at her nose. 

What is she talking about? She wants  _ him  _ to help name them?

“I like Mittens for this one,” she says, picking up the gray one. “He’s got little white mittens on his paws.”

He nods when she looks over at him. 

“Mittens is good,” he answers quietly. 

“I think Soot and Ash for the black ones,” she says, tapping the two kittens on the nose when she gives them names. 

He nods again, still moving his hand for the red one to try and pounce on.

“What about those two?” he asks, nodding toward the striped kittens curled up on Felicity’s back. 

“Something tigerish,” she says. 

“Tigerish?” he asks, glancing over at him. She’s watching his hand as the red kitten pounces on it, trying to bite him again.

“Yeah. They’re all stripedy, like tigers. They should be named something tigerish,” Felicity says, as if it’s common sense. 

He nods. “What about Tigger?” he asks.

Felicity giggles. “Like with Winnie the Pooh?”

He nods.

“I like it,” Felicity says. 

“What was the tiger in the Jungle Book?” he asks.

“Shere Khan?” He nods.

“That could work,” he says.

“Good idea. Just one more,” Felicity says, picking up the red kitten and moving it in front of her face. She giggles and scrunches up her nose when the kitten swats at it.

 

When they go back inside after the kittens finally fall asleep - they waited because Felicity didn’t want the kittens to follow, because then they might run into the driveway and get run over - it’s dark outside, and his stomach has been growling for the past half hour or so.

Felicity goes straight to the kitchen, pulling things out of the fridge and the cupboards and turning on the stove. 

Instead of going to the guest room to wait until she calls, he decides to sit at the kitchen table. Felicity doesn’t question it, and seems a bit more happy as she moves around the small kitchen.

She hums a song as she's cooking, and he doesn't remember the name of it, but he's heard it before.

He sits and thinks, because he doesn’t want to talk.

He  _ wants  _ to tell her. He  _ wants  _ her to know about him. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell her.

 

After supper, they put the dishes in the sink, Felicity washes them, and he helps her put them back in the cupboards. Then they go back to the couch.

Felicity goes through the channels, trying to find something to watch. 

“I think  **The Apple Dumpling Gang** is on tonight,” she mutters. 

Once she finds it, she sits back, setting the remote on the coffee table.

“Have you seen this one?” she asks. 

He shakes his head as the movie starts, and soon they’re both quiet, the movie being the only sound in the house.

Until the screen changes, showing buildings falling and people screaming and running.

“This is a live report from Sokovia. The strange robots appear to have overrun the city, and are wreaking havoc on it’s inhabitants,” a voice says over the sound of destruction. 

“The avengers are here, trying to help in evacuating the people of Sokovia and in taking down the robots.”

Felicity gasps as the camera shows a family running out of their home, a strange looking girl with glowing red around her hands running after them. 

“That’s awful,” she says.

There’s a flash of what looks like fire across the screen, and then a metal man flies across.

“Iron man!” Felicity says.

“It is unclear where these robots have come from, or what their intentions are besides destruction, but it seems as if they’re slowly being beaten by the Avengers.”

Felicity gasps again as a round shield -  _ Steve’s  _ shield - flies across the screen, decapitating several of the metal robots before becoming stuck in the side of a car.

“Oh my gosh! It’s Captain America!” Felicity squeals as Steve himself runs across the screen, yanking his shield out of the car before joining the fight again.

“Steve.”

Felicity turns to him, a huge smile on her face.

“Isn’t he awesome?”

He’s sort of frozen. He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything. Felicity turns back to the TV, and after a few moments of showing more buildings falling down, the movie that they were originally watching pops back up.

Felicity is just as enthusiastic with this one, even though there aren’t very many songs, but he can’t get into it. 

He’s thinking again. 

After the movie is over, Felicity pulls out her phone, looking at it quietly.

“I knew him,” he says after a long time.

“Hmm?” she hums, looking over at him. 

“Steve. I knew him,” he says, frowning. 

There’s no one here to wipe his memory, but he’s still cautious about how loud his voice is.

“What do you mean?” Felicity asks softly. She sets her phone down, turning her entire body to face him.

“I mean, I knew him,” he repeats. He’s not sure how to get his point across. “We grew up together, I think.”

Felicity frowns, then tilts her head to the side.

“You don’t look like you’re from the forties,” she says. “Are you sure?”

He nods, then takes a deep breath. “I was in the one oh seventh. We were captured by Hydra. They... they did things..” he trails off, not able to keep telling her. What if she doesn’t want to hear it?

“Like what?” she asks, moving a little closer. “Was it bad?”

He nods. “But Steve came. He got us out.” 

He glances at Felicity to find her looking at him intently, slightly frowning like she can’t quite understand.

“Then we went back to the army base, and I don’t remember all of it, but I went back out with him. We went after Hydra.”

“With Steve?” Felicity asks quietly. 

He nods. 

“We were on the train with Zola, then I fell…”

His head starts to hurt, and he stops talking.

“What happened after that?” she asks softly. 

He raises his metal arm. 

“This. I don’t remember very much in between. Just pain.”

“Wait a minute,” Felicity says, holding her hands out. “You were one of the Howling Commandos.”

He nods, not sure what she’s going for.

“You grew up with  _ Steve Rogers _ ?” she asks.

He nods again, looking over at her as she stands. 

“You fell from the train,” she mutters, starting to pace the carpet in front of him. 

Then just as quickly as she started, she stops. 

“This is not real. Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously Bucky, pinch me.”

“Why?” he asks. 

“I wrote  _ essays  _ about James Buchanan Barnes in my history class,” she says. “And the books all told us that he was dead. There’s an entire exhibit in the Smithsonian about him.”

She looks at him, crossing her arms.

“And you’re  _ him _ ?”

He nods. 

Then shakes his head. 

Then nods again.

“That’s my name,” he says. Steve told him that. “I remember doing things in the war, and… and  _ Steve _ , but it’s… different now. I’m not… I don’t….”

His voice grows more hoarse with each attempt to tell her that he isn’t the same person. 

“I’m- I’m not…”

He chokes on the last words, feeling tears in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she says, kneeling in front of him. “You’re alright. There’s nothing to worry about now, you’re okay.”

He looks at her strange eyes, and he sees nothing but trust in them. 

Trust he doesn’t deserve. Not after what he’s done. All the lives he’s taken, ruined, changed. 

It wasn’t by his own choice, but through him that they happened. 

And he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Felicity says again.

He chokes on the first sob that tears through him, and Felicity grimaces. 

“You’re alright,” she says again, cautiously raising her hands to run her fingers through his hair. “Let it out, I’m right here for you.”

Maybe it’s her words, or the soft tone that she says them in that finally convinces him. 

Whichever it is, he feels like he can let go without fear of being attacked.

He falls forward, resting his forehead on Felicity’s shoulder as his arms wrap around her, and he cries. 

Once he finds his voice again, he tells her in broken, jumbled sentences what he’s done, and what they did to him. He tells her everything that he remembers, everything that he can let out.

Felicity holds him through all of it, letting him cry it out on her shoulder, not saying anything.

He expects her to tell him to get out, to leave and never come back, but she doesn’t.

Instead she leans back once he’s finished talking, and takes his face in her hands. 

“Are you good now?” she asks.

He nods.

“If you want me to leave-” he starts, but he stops when she shakes her head.

“Were you in complete control of yourself when you did those things?” she asks.

He shakes his head. He wasn’t completely in control, he was talked into it, yes, but he didn’t have the memories to help him make the choice himself.

If he didn’t do what he was told, Hydra would have made him anyway. They’d have done that whether he was helpful to them or not.

“Did you want to - do all of that?” she asks, her voice even softer.

He shakes his head again. 

“No.”

“Then it wasn’t necessarily your fault.”

He starts to tell her that  _ yes _ , it  _ was  _ his fault, it was all his fault, but she interrupts him.

“It’s bigger than just you,” she says. “Hydra sounds like the kind of people that would do bad things no matter what. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else that was forced into doing those things.”

He nods. He never thought of it like that.

“I’m not excusing what they did, that’s - that’s awful, but I’m saying that it would have happened anyway, so you shouldn’t blame yourself, because they were going to do the bad stuff no matter what. It’s not your fault.”

He doesn’t completely believe her, but he nods.

“We should get to bed,” she says, standing up and gently pulling him with her. “If you want to talk about it, I’m always here.”

He nods again. 

“Thank you,” he says, his voice rough.

She softly smiles at him. 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. It’s almost tomorrow.”

She tugs him down the hallway, and into the bathroom. 

He manages to brush his teeth himself - though he doesn’t doubt that Felicity would have done it for him if she was asked - and then she pulls him into the guest room.

He lays down, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“Goodnight,” Felicity says as she moves toward the door. She’s stopped when he reaches out with his metal hand, grasping hers.

“Stay,” he says quietly. “Please.” 

He needs another person there with him. He’s not sure why.

Felicity nods, then crawls in next to him, leaving a little bit of space between them. 

“Is this good?” she asks.

He shakes his head, then pulls her a little closer.

“This is better,” he mumbles as she tucks herself under his chin. 

“Okay. Goodnight,” she says.

“Goodnight.”

 

The next morning he smells pancakes when he wakes up, and he hears the  _ creak, click _ of Felicity’s prosthetic as she walks down the hall.

“Hey,” she says quietly as she walks in. “Breakfast is ready.”

She smiles at him, and he rolls over, pushing his face into the pillow. 

He doesn’t want to get up yet.

He hears Felicity giggle, and then the bed is moving as she crawls up onto it.

“Do you want me to bring it to you?” she asks.

He shakes his head. He can get up. He just doesn’t want to.

Felicity makes some sound of acknowledgement, then he feels her flop down onto the mattress.

“You’re my favorite, you know,” she says after a while. 

“What?” he asks, rolling over to look at her.

She’s laying on her back, her hair fanned out on the pillow under her head.

“You’re my favorite,” she says again, like it’s that simple. 

She turns and smiles at him, and maybe it is that simple. 

 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks for the fifth time as they get out of the car. “What if people see-”

“They’re gonna see you,” Felicity says as she grabs her purse and shuts the door, and his heart stops. Literally stops for a second. “And they’re gonna think that you’re a normal guy going to a museum to look at all the manly soldiers because that’s what people do. They won’t think anything is up. They probably won’t even make the connection.”

“Do you think so?” he asks.

“Yeah. No one’s gonna be able to see your face under that hat. Just pop your collar up and everything will be perfect. Not shady at all,” Felicity replies.

“Was that sarcasm?” he asks, a grin forming on his face.

“No, not at all,” she answers with a smile. “Come on, let’s go in before they close.”

“Yeah! Smithsonian!” Jeremy says excitedly as he runs ahead.

“Hey, get back here, mister,” Felicity says firmly. “You can’t run off, you might get lost.”

Felicity had also wanted to bring Jeremy and Lucy with them. They don’t get to go to very many places, she’d said. She wanted to take them somewhere fun.

Lucy stays close by, hanging onto Felicity’s hand and watching her brother with wide eyes. She’s always very quiet, which is something he likes about her. Lucy’s smart, he can tell, but she doesn’t show it off very often. Only when she needs to.

It’s chilly outside, so Felicity said he could probably keep his gloves on, which makes him a little more at ease with the whole being out in public thing. 

They get inside with no problems, and wander around, Felicity pointing out some of her favorite things in the museum.

It had been her idea to come to the Smithsonian. She’d asked him one night after supper. 

He wasn’t sure, but she said it couldn’t hurt to go see it, and he had agreed. 

That was before he knew how many people would be there.

It’s not that he’s worried about controlling himself, that’s not something he’s worried about for a long time, it’s the slight fear that someone might know who he is, what he’s done, and turn him in, take him away from Felicity. 

He’s not sure about her anymore. He still trusts her, but there’s something about her that’s begun to make him nervous whenever she’s around. He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something there that wasn’t there before. Like in Beauty and the Beast.

That’s a good analogy for Felicity and him, he thinks. She’s kind and smart like Belle, and he’s a bit withdrawn, like the beast. 

He wonders what Felicity would think of that.

“Hey, look at this!” Felicity says, tugging gently at his sleeve, trying to get him to move toward a rather large plane hanging from the ceiling.

She pulls him around to look at everything, talking the whole time about some stuff she’s read on the internet about the things in front of them, and Lucy and Jeremy listen intently, asking questions about where she found that out, or what else Felicity knows.

He’s listening too, taking in the smooth sound of Felicity’s voice, but he’s also looking around. Hopefully not too much, but enough to be classed as observant instead of suspicious.

“What about that one?” Jeremy asks, pointing toward a door to a separate exhibit. “Can we go to that one?”

Felicity shakes her head with a smile. “Not yet. Gotta save the best for last.”

They walk to every exhibit in the museum, which takes at least an hour, maybe two, he’s lost track. 

“My feet hurt,” Lucy says quietly.

“Only one left,” Felicity says. “Can you make it that far?”

Lucy nods. 

He follows Felicity into the door that Jeremy had pointed at earlier, and he sees why Felicity left this one for last. 

He knows the faces on the walls. He’s seen them before, and not just in this exhibit. He’s talked to them, fought with them. 

They were his friends. 

There are lots of people here, looking at the pictures and the different things in the room. They’re considered artifacts now, he supposes. It’s been that long. 

He sees several people with hats like the one he’s wearing, so he doesn’t think he sticks out too much.

Felicity keeps turning back to look at him while she takes Lucy and Jeremy around the room.

“You good?” she asks.

He nods, looking around. One wall catches his attention, and he walks over to it. 

A face stares back at him, along with a large chunk of text telling him about his own life. A life he doesn’t remember all of. 

He looks at the face - his face - and sees himself in the reflection. 

He looks nothing like what he used to. That’s not a strange thing, given what he’s been through. Most people look different over time. The main things are the same. His nose looks the same, and so do his eyes. 

He thinks that he might look more like his old self if he cut his hair and shaved. He’s less clean cut than before. He’s not sure if he wants to stay that way or not. 

He’s not the same person that’s looking back at him, but he’s not the person he was three months ago either. Physically, yes, he is the same. Mentally, not so much.

He isn’t sure who he is. 

He’s a new person, still changing, getting used to everything, figuring out who he is. 

He feels a small tug on his sleeve, and looks over to where it came from. 

He frowns when he doesn’t see Felicity, but then there’s another, more insistent tug, and he looks down. 

Lucy.

“Felicity says they’re gonna close soon,” she tells him. 

He nods, then lets the little girl tug him away, toward the door.

“Why does he have the same name as you?” Lucy asks once they’re in the car.

“What do you mean?” Felicity asks. 

“Mr. Bucky was looking at the wall, and that man on the wall, his name was Bucky too,” Lucy says, playing with the stuffed airplane that Felicity had bought for her at the gift shop.

She’d also bought a stuffed bear and given it to him. She named it Bucky Bear and said that it looked like him.

Felicity looks over at him, he sees it out of the corner of his eye, then she looks in the rearview mirror to where Lucy’s sitting in her car seat.

“More than one person can have the same name, right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Lucy replies. “But he looks just like him.”

Leave it to a child to figure out who he is.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a Thursday when things change again. He’s just woken up from an after lunch nap, when there’s a knock at the door.

At first he’s confused. Felicity didn’t say anything about anyone coming today. Lucy and Jeremy are out in the stable with Felicity, because it’s still the usual time for lessons, so it can’t be them.

He goes to the window, and sees a motorcycle in the driveway next to Eunice.

Who does Felicity know that drives a motorcycle? Besides him.

There’s another knock at the door, and he’s not sure what to do. He doesn’t think Felicity would be opposed to him opening it, but he doesn’t think that she’d necessarily want him to invite people in. It is her house after all.

“Is anyone home?” a voice calls after the third knock.

Steve.

Now he knows who it is. But he’s still not sure if he should open the door.

“Are you alone?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, like he can’t believe it. “Is that you?”

“Are you alone?” he repeats, inwardly cursing himself for being stupid and talking. He could have just waited until Felicity came inside. It’s nearly five in the afternoon anyway.

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “It’s just me.”

He looks through the peephole in the door - something he’s glad Felicity has - and sees just Steve standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at the door.

Steve looks hopeful, he thinks.

He takes a deep breath, preparing for the worst, and turns the lock.

He waits a few more seconds, then opens the door just a crack.

Steve smiles when he sees him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies.

There’s a silence, because neither of them are sure what to say, and then he opens the door a little wider.

“Is this your place?” Steve asks.

He shakes his head.

“No. It’s Felicity’s.”

Steve nods.

“Is it alright if I come inside?” Steve asks.

He thinks about it. Felicity probably wouldn’t mind. She’s coming in soon too, so it wouldn’t be that long before she figured it out.

He nods, then steps back, letting Steve in.

Steve steps inside, then pulls his jacket off, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.

“Um, you can probably it down,” he says.

“Thank you,” Steve says, moving over to the couch and sitting down.

He sits down too, on the opposite side of the couch.

He can tell that Steve wants to talk, but he’s not sure what to say.

“How have you been?” Steve asks after a little bit.

“Better,” he answers.

He’s been doing well lately, great actually. Everything feels good.

“That’s good,” Steve says with a smile.

“Why are you here?” he asks suddenly. He doesn’t mean it in a mean way, he just thought of it and he wants to know.

Steve blinks, then sighs.

“They want to bring you in. For a trial,” Steve answers.

“And they sent you.”

Steve shakes his head.

“They don’t know I’m here,” Steve tells him. “I came on my own.”

He nods. Steve wouldn’t do that. Steve’s his friend.

“Fury says it might be better for you if you turn yourself in though,” Steve says.

“Fury?” he asks.

“The director - well, not anymore - he was the director of Shield,” Steve explains. “it’s kind of complicated.”

Shield?

“Shield isn’t what you think,” Steve says quickly. “It’s been hard, but we’ve built it back up. Gotten the bugs out. Made it better.”

He nods.

“What do you think?” he asks. “What should I do?”

Steve folds his hands.

“I’ve done my research on this one, Buck. Fury’s right. If you turn yourself in, you’ll be able to set the terms for the trial. Pick your own lawyer. I know a real good one, he’ll make sure you get a fair deal.”

He nods.

“Do you think they’ll put me in jail?” he asks.

“They might. There’s people who want you dead,” Steve says.

“Bucky, can you get the chicken out of the fridge?” Felicity asks as she walks in the back door.

“Yeah,” he says, getting up. He looks at Steve, who nods.

He goes into the kitchen while Felicity walks into her room, and gets the chicken out of the fridge, putting it in the sink before going back to talk to Felicity.

He knocks on her door, and after she tells him that it’s open, he turns the knob and goes inside.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“The sky,” he answers, using Lucy’s usual answer that he knows makes Felicity smile.

“You’re silly,” Felicity giggles, sliding her slipper over her prosthetic foot. “Why is Steve Rogers on my couch?”

She asks it casually, like it’s an everyday thing for Captain America to be in her house.

“He says there’s people looking for me.”

“I thought you already knew that,” Felicity says as she puts on her other slipper. “Like, that’s why you were running in the first place.”

He nods. “Yeah. There’s a trial. They just need me.”

“Are you gonna go?” Felicity asks, tilting her head to one side.

“I don’t know.”

Felicity nods.

“He says he can get me a fair trial.”

“He better be able to,” Felicity says. “You deserve something fair for once.”

He blinks.

He doesn’t deserve anything. Not after what he’s done. He’s done too much bad to be worthy of anything good.

Felicity blinks, then stands up.

“Shouldn’t leave him sitting out there all alone,” she says quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She won’t look at him.

He nods.

“Do you want to meet him?” he asks.

She looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Really?”

“It’s your house,” he says.

“Oh yeah. My house. I should ask if he wants something to drink. Food. Supper. Chicken.”

Felicity keeps muttering as she walks to the door, then out into the hallway.

She only goes a few steps before popping her head back into the doorway.

“Are you coming? You’re better at doing the oven thing than I am.”

He smiles, then follows her.

It’s not awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable with Steve there. It’s different. Felicity won’t stop talking, rambling on and on, keeping the conversation going as she makes supper. He sits at the table with Steve when he’s not helping her.

“This is a nice house,” Steve says when they’re eating.

“Thanks,” Felicity says. “It was my grandma’s. I inherited it when she went to the nursing home.”

“Did it come with the stable?” Steve asks.

Felicity shakes her head, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“No, just the house. I bought the stable and the field a few years ago.”

He stays quiet, not knowing what to say. He doesn’t know what it is, but he’s got a feeling that he doesn’t like when he sees Felicity smiling at Steve.

He wants her to smile at him.

 

After supper, he helps Felicity with the dishes, and then they all go to sit on the couch.

It’s almost a tight fit, Felicity on one side of him and Steve on the other, but it’s not bad. Almost comfortable.

They watch more Disney movies, and he thinks that if he leaves, this is something he’ll miss. He likes sitting on the couch with Felicity. He likes being with Felicity.

It’s fun, watching movies with Steve _and_ Felicity. They’re all laughing and talking while the movie plays.

He could get used to this.

 

When they go to bed - after a small debate about where Steve would stay - he’s thinking again. Felicity’s next to him, Steve in the guest room.

“Can’t sleep?” Felicity asks after a few hours, rolling over to face him.

He shakes his head.

“Is the bed too soft?” she asks.

He shakes his head again.

“No, my head’s too full,” he answers.

Felicity nods, then they just lay quietly for a minute.

“Can I braid your hair?” she asks.

“Sure.”

He sits up, letting Felicity move behind him.

She runs her fingers through his hair a few times, and then starts to braid it, pulling it back from his face as she twists the strands together.

Then she starts singing.

“Your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me. But bear this in mind, it was meant to be. And I’m joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks, and it all makes sense to me.”

He smiles. He likes this song.

“I know you’ve never loved the crinkles by your eyes when you smile, you’ve never loved your stomach or your thighs. The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine, but I love them endlessly.”

His eyelids are starting to feel heavy. He likes when Felicity sings.

“I won’t let these little things slip out of my mouth. But if I do, it’s you. Oh, it’s you. It’s you they add up to. I’m in love with you, and all these little things.”

Felicity’s hands feel good in his hair.

“You can’t go to bed, without a cup of tea. And maybe that’s the reason that you talk in your sleep. And all those conversations are the secrets that I keep, though it makes no sense to me.”

He leans back against her, and they fall back against the pillows.

Felicity giggles, then keeps singing, still braiding his hair.

“I know you’ve never loved the sound of your voice on tape. You never want to know how much you weigh. You still love to squeeze into your jeans, but you’re perfect to me.”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head on her shoulder.

“I won’t let these little things slip out of my mouth. But if it’s true, it’s you. It’s you they add up to. I’m in love with you, and all these little things.”

Felicity’s voice gets quieter, softer, as she moves around a little, getting comfy.

“You’ll never love yourself half as much as I love you. And you’ll never treat yourself right darling, but I want you to. If I let you know I’m here for you. Maybe you’ll love yourself like I love you.”

He smiles, slowly falling asleep.

“I’ve just let these little things slip out of my mouth. ‘Cause it’s you. Oh it’s you. It’s you they add up to. I’m in love with you and all these little things.”

“Night Felicity,” he says quietly.

“Good night Bucky,” she says. He can hear the smile in her voice.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s still wound around Felicity, and she’s still asleep. She smells like vanilla.

He hears someone moving around, and slowly gets out of bed.

After stepping out into the hallway, he sees Steve in the bathroom.

“Hey,” Steve says once he sees him.

“Hey.”

It’s quiet for a moment, just the two of them standing in the hallway.

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

“Really?” Steve asks. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Yeah. I can’t run forever.”

Steve smiles.

 

Later that day, he’s packed all of his things into a duffel bag, and is standing at the door.

“It was nice to meet you,” Felicity tells Steve.

“You make really good pie,” Steve replies.

“Thanks,” Felicity says, blushing a little.

He clears his throat, and Steve looks at him.

“You ready?” Steve asks.

He nods. “Yeah. As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Steve nods.

“Alright. I’ll be outside.” Steve looks at Felicity again. “It was nice to meet you.”

Felicity smiles as Steve walks out the door, then she turns to him.

“Are you gonna be alright?” he asks.

Felicity smiles.

“Don't worry about me. I'm a big tough girl. I can tie my own shoes and everything,” she tells him.

He frowns. She'll be all alone when he leaves. He doesn't like the sound of that.

“You're still not scary,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes to hook her chin over his shoulder.

He hesitates, then hugs her tightly.

“Don't let them make you do anything you don't want to,” she tells him. “You don't deserve bad things.”

He's taken aback by her words. He's done nothing _but_ bad, why should he get anything good?

“I know you don't believe me, but you're a good guy. Like a big teddy bear.”

He laughs at that.

“I'm serious,” she insists. “You just look grumpy. But you aren't.”

“Resting bitch face,” he say with a smile.

“Exactly,” Felicity agrees. “There's more to you than just that. There's good underneath.”

She pulls back, looking up at him with her strange eyes.

“There's good in here,” she says, putting her hand over his heart. “People just need to see it.”

He smiles sadly. The people that need to see it won't have the time to get past the walls he's built up around the little good that he has left.

He nods, then looks out the open door.

Steve’s waiting for him, leaning against his bike that's parked next to Eunice.

Steve sees the good in him.

Felicity sees the good in him, she saw it before she knew anything about him.

Maybe there's a chance that other people will see it too.

He turns back to Felicity, who smiles up at him, then moves to give him another hug.

This one feels more final, like she doesn't want to let him go. He takes a deep breath, breathing in everything familiar about her, this place, this _home_ , for what could be the last time.

Felicity gives him one final squeeze, then turns her face to kiss his cheek.

“Bye Bucky Bear,” she says.

“Bye Felicity Bunny,” he answers, finally stepping away from her and going out the door.

He doesn't stop until he reaches his bike, strapping his bag down before swinging his leg over and starting the engine.

He looks back at Felicity’s house one more time, and she waves at him from the doorway. He waves back, then follows Steve down the driveway and onto the road.

He’ll come back.

 

Once he gets to the new Shield, as Steve calls it, he’s taken to a room - they call it a room, it’s more of a cell - and told that this will be where he’s staying until after the results of the trial.

He understands that. They can’t have him out and about when he’s a criminal.

Steve comes to visit him almost every hour, but he’s still alone for a long time the first few days.

Everything seems to go by quickly.

He’s brought out into a large courtroom, then he sits there for hours each day while more and more witnesses are brought in to testify.

The guy that Steve knows is actually a good attorney. Matt Murdock is his name. He’s good at his job.

There are days when he doesn’t think anything will go right, days when everyone seems to be against him, but those days are very few. He’s surprised by how many are taking his side in the case, saying that he wasn’t himself and didn’t have a choice in what he did.

Just like Felicity said.

It’s months before the jury decides the verdict, but when they do, Steve’s hugging him before he can react, nearly knocking him over into his chair.

There’s a lot to go through afterward, but he’s a free man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my lack of legal terms and knowledge. I know almost nothing about trials and all that stuff. (I do know someone who's studying to be a lawyer, but I don't necessarily want to ask them because it would turn into something that I don't want to deal with). I am not a lawyer, I'm not even a professional author. I'm a college student (At the moment) and I am fully realizing how much I don't know. :/  
> Also, this isn't over yet! There's more!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter, here we go!

It’s sixth months since he left when he comes back to Felicity’s. Steve, Tony, and Thor are with him. They’ve just gotten back from a mission, and he asked if they could swing by Felicity’s.

He hesitates when he’s at the door. What if she doesn’t want him to come back?

“Are you gonna knock or not? Cause I will if you won’t,” Tony says from behind him. That’s something that’s taken a while to get used to. 

He knocks on the door, then waits. 

There’s yelling from inside, though he can’t quite make out what gets said, and then the door is opening. 

“Mister Bucky!” Lucy says, running forward to hug his legs.

“Hey Lucy,” he says. “Can we come inside?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says excitedly. “Felicity’s downstairs, she’s getting some markers for us so we can color. Do you want to color with us?”

Lucy pulls him inside, and the others follow, someone closing the door.

“Lucy, go get Felicity,” Jeremy says when the boy sees him.

Lucy lets go of his hand, running down the steps to the basement.

“Jeremy,” he says. 

“Hi,” the boy replies, crossing his arms. 

“Did I miss something?” Tony asks. “She has  _ kids _ ?”

He starts to shake his head, but Jeremy talks before he can answer.

“She’s gonna adopt us,” the boy says. “If they let her.”

He nods. 

Jeremy turns to look up at him.

“She can’t sleep,” he says with a glare. 

He nods, knowing that the boy blames him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, kneeling on the floor in front of Jeremy. “I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I’m back now, and I’m not leaving this time.”

Jeremy nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

Then there’s a clatter from the basement, and running footsteps. 

He stands up just in time for Felicity to jump at him, her arms winding around his neck.

“Bucky!” she says happily. 

“Hey Bunny,” he says, wrapping his arms around her. She still smells like vanilla.

“I told you he was here,” Lucy says from next to them.

“You did,” Felicity says as she pulls back. 

“Whoah, you weren’t kidding. Her eyes  _ are  _ different colors,” Tony says from behind them.

“Why is Tony Stark on my couch?” she asks. “And where did - holy shit, is that Thor?”

“Language!” Lucy says loudly. “Two dollars in the pottymouth bucket!”

“There’s a  _ bucket _ ?” he asks.

Felicity nods. “They’ve been here more often, and I’ve been stepping on more Legos than usual,” she says, ruffling Jeremy’s hair. “Seriously though, there was enough beefcake in the house before, why all the extra?”

“We just finished a mission,” he explains quietly. “I’m an Avenger.”

Felicity’s mouth falls open. 

“No way! That’s so cool!” she squeals.

“So, are you going to introduce us to the Ice Queen or are you two just going to keep talking while we sit here?” Tony asks. 

“Ice Queen?” Felicity asks, confused.

“You know, cause he’s the Winter Soldier, and you’re…” Tony stops, clearing his throat. “You’ve uh, got the hair like that one…” he starts again, snapping his fingers when he can’t think of the name. 

“Elsa,” Steve says. “You saw the movie yesterday, Tony.”

“Yeah. Like Elsa. It fits,” Tony continues. “But he calls you Bunny.”

“You told them about me?” Felicity asks, grinning at him. 

“And asked us not to call you in for witnessing,” Tony adds. “Something about horses.”

Felicity smiles up at him, and he feels his face heat up a bit. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to leave them,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What kind of microwave is  _ this _ ?” Tony’s voice calls from the kitchen.

Felicity looks over at where he’s standing.

“Don’t mess with that,” she warns, “you might get-”

“Ow!”

“-shocked.”

“Felicity says she’s the only one who’s s’posed to mess with the microwave,” Lucy tells Tony. “It doesn’t shock her.”

“Should have a warning sign,” Tony mutters, rubbing his hand. “That’s dangerous.”

“I’m saving for a new one,” Felicity says. 

“Will the toaster attack me too?” Tony asks, moving along the counter. 

“If you provoke it,” Felicity answers with a straight face. Then she turns back to him. “Are you staying for supper?” she asks.

He nods. “I’ll be here till you want me gone,” he says. 

Felicity smiles. “I’ll make some pie then.”

“Can I help?” Lucy asks, tugging at Felicity’s hand. 

“Of course.” She looks at him again. “You guys can do whatever, show them around or something if you want.”

He nods. 

After about half an hour of taking the others around the stable and telling them all the horses’ names, Jeremy comes outside, Lucy running behind him, to call them inside for supper.

Felicity’s walking back and forth between the kitchen table and the stove when they come inside, taking things over so they can eat.

He moves over to help her, and Steve follows him. Thor and Tony sit down at the table, talking to Jeremy. 

The boy asked about the Iron Man suit and how it works, and Tony was happy to explain. 

Another chance to talk about himself. 

“Thank you,” Felicity says as he takes a bowl of potatoes from her, bringing it over to the table.

The meal is pretty quiet, mostly because they’re all eating, but it’s comfortable. He feels like he’s where he’s supposed to be. 

Lucy and Jeremy get picked up a little bit after supper, and then Steve and Tony decide to teach Thor how to play Mario Kart while he and Felicity wash the dishes.

“That was nice of you, not getting me in a courtroom,” she says absently. 

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says, “I didn’t think you’d want to come, you know, because you’d had to leave the horses, and there would be people, and people are-”

“People are gross,” she giggles. “I would’ve come if you asked me to.”

He smiles. 

“But thank you for not needing me, ‘cause I was busy while the whole thing was going down,” she says. 

“What do you mean?”

“There was a horse show in town, and of course all the kids’ parents wanted them in it, so there were extra lessons every day.”

“That sounds fun,” he says, drying a plate off and setting it on the counter. 

Felicity shrugs

“It was alright. I got paid extra. And I still got to watch the trial every night.”

“You watched it?”

Felicity nods.

“Yeah. It was on TV, and I was curious.”

He nods. She saw everything. Heard everything. 

“There were a lot of people there,” she says quietly. “You did good.”

He smiles.

“Thanks.”

 

Once the dishes are done, they make their way over to the couch, where Steve and Tony are yelling at each other as they play the game.

He and Felicity join in after a while, and soon all of them are tired, almost falling asleep where they sit.

“You guys can stay here if you want,” Felicity says with a yawn. “There’s a guest room.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. “Who’s going where?”

“I want a bed,” Tony says.

“I just need a blanket and a pillow,” Steve says. 

“I’ll take the couch,” Thor chimes in. 

“I can take the couch,” Felicity says. “Somebody can have my bed.”

“You don’t sleep good on the couch,” he says quietly.

She turns to him and smiles, like she’s happy he remembers.

Tony groans.

“First it’s the two ninety five year olds looking at each other, now the scarier one has someone else to look at,” he says.

“Bucky’s not scary,” both Felicity and Steve reply at the same time.

“I rest my case,” Tony says as he stands from the couch. “Where's the guest room? Think I'm going to turn in for the night.”

“Last door on the right,” Felicity answers, pointing down the hall.

“Thanks. Night night.”

“So who's going where?” Steve asks again.

“I will take the couch,” Thor repeats. 

“Are you sure?” Felicity asks. 

“Or course.”

“You get a bed. You need to sleep,” Steve tells her. 

He sees Felicity roll her eyes, then she stands up.

“Alright. I’ll be in my room.”

She looks at him, then tilts her head toward her room. He nods, and then she walks out of the room. 

“Well, I’m going to turn in,” Steve says, grabbing a pillow off of the couch and setting it on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re alright on the floor?” he asks Steve, who nods. 

“Beds are too soft for me anyway,” Steve replies. “Are you bunking with Felicity?”

He nods. “Probably. It’ll help her sleep better.”

“Is that the only reason?” Steve asks with a grin as Thor starts to snore. 

He doesn’t answer Steve’s question, choosing instead to say goodnight and walk down the hall.

He knocks on the door before stepping into the dark room, his eyes falling on Felicity’s form under the blankets.

“Hey,” she says when she sees him. She pulls the blankets back, then pats the mattress next to her. “Are you gonna stay here for the night?”

He nods as he kicks his boots off, then he crawls in next to her, leaning back against the headboard. She leans her head on his shoulder, scooting closer as her fingers wrap around his arm.

“Your toes are cold,” he tells her when he feels them against his leg, through his pants.

“Ice Queen,” Felicity says quietly with a small smile.

“You said you don’t get cold,” he says. 

“Cause I’ve got a Bucky Bear to keep me warm,” she murmurs.

He smiles. 

He feels like this is where he’s supposed to be. He belongs here. Not necessarily everything is the way it’s supposed to be, but the people that he cares about - Felicity and Steve - are here, along with a few others that may become important. 

It may not have been the ideal way to get to where he is, but he knows that it couldn’t have happened another way. He can’t say that he wouldn’t change anything, but he can say that he wouldn’t change the outcome. 

He feels happy, like he’s finally found where he’s supposed to end up. 

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me through this, and for reading and your lovely comments.  
> I'll keep writing, but this fic has come to an end.  
> Hopefully Civil War won't tear us up too badly.


End file.
